War of Desires
by Angoliel
Summary: Set after What It Takes To Be A Lady. Rating may go up in later chapters. Silmarien has been a lady of the court for many years, and has grown weary of the predictable routine. COMPLETE!
1. Go To Your King, Daughter

**Story Summary:** Silmarien has been a lady of the court for many years. She's rebelled against it, too. Having fought in the War of the Ring, she knows what it is to be in battle, and to deal death and receive wounds.

Denethor has survived his pyre. Boromir lives, and is in love with Rhoswen. Faramir and Eowyn have also fallen in love. Silmarien must choose between marrying her cousin for politics, and marrying an exciting stranger who has just stepped into her life for love.

**Authors Notes: **Here it is, folks, the second Mari story, dedicated to all the readers who enjoyed _What it Takes_ so much. Now, this fic will contain some stuff that definitely isn't for youngsters. And if you don't like your young lovers quite naughty, then I suggest you hit your back button now!

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it, never will.

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The City of Minas Tirith still stood proudly, even with the gashes of war still embedded in her. She had made a valiant stand against the armies of Mordor and with the help of Rohan, defeated her enemy. Soldiers were sent to the Houses of Healing, to recuperate from the vicious blow Sauron dealt them.

Also in the Houses of Healing resided the Steward of Gondor and nearly all his family. Faramir had taken a poisoned arrow for his country, as well as his sister Silmarien, who had come with the army of Dol Amroth, disguised as a soldier. Denethor himself had succumbed to madness, brought on by the Palantir and attempted to burn himself and his son Faramir. The hobbit Peragrin Took had saved them both from this horrible death, with the aid of Gandalf.

None of the Steward's family was in any position to lead the army that was to march against the Gates of Mordor. And so the man who was whispered to be King of Gondor went, and achieved a glorious victory, destroying his foe. The hobbit princes who had cast Isildur's Bane into Mount Doom had been celebrated loudly and treated well in the City.

It was a few days after the King had brought back a sapling he had found of the White Tree and replaced it. Denethor's health had taken a sore blow and had not fully recovered from the result of his madness, and so he went about upon his daughter's good arm and a cane when she was not with him. His duties were passed to his sons, who helped the king organize his court and work as well as they could.

One day he went to his daughter in her chambers after he had been in a short audience with Elessar. Silmarien was at her desk wrapping a gift for Rhoswen and Boromir to congratulate them on their coming wedding. Denethor watched her carefully. She spoke joyful things, and smiled often, but between the smiles and happy laughter there were times of sadness and a solemnity that he had never before seen in Silmarien. The war had made her less flamboyant and more willing to listen quietly. Denethor watched with a sting of sorrow for her as she tied the ribbon about the gift with stiffness in her left arm.

"Daughter, there is a thing we must speak about," he said quietly. Mari turned to him, having finished her project, to help him sit.

"I have spoken to the king and have seen his character. In this time of renewal, he has done well. He endeavors to bring back the greatness of Gondor's former glory, and I commend him for it."

Silmarien nodded silently, not knowing where her father was taking this. It seemed the former Steward had been thinking much on these things and had spoken privately with the new king. Denethor took a breath and asked for a drink, which his daughter immediately brought to his hand.

"A great country has its roots in its people," he began. "And the people look to their nobles. It would be well for the country if the nobles were united to one purpose."

"Indeed, father," Silmarien replied. Denethor sipped at his wine, still trying to put together the words he wished to speak.

"I do not grow younger, Silmarien. My days are coming to an end. My sons have found happiness. It is the desire of my heart that my daughter find it as well."

Mari lowered her head so that her eyes gazed at her hands folded on her lap. So it had come to this at last, an arranged marriage. For so many years, this was what she had feared. She had put off her cousin Barahir because it didn't feel right to accept his ever-present proposal. Now, there was nothing she could do.

"I have had audience with our king, and he has agreed to speak with you, Silmarien," Denethor said. "You are fortunate, daughter, to be given such favor. I would ask you to go to him immediately."

Nodding mutely, Silmarien stood and made her way to the king's study. There was a guard there who nodded, admitting her entry. The chamber was lit by many candles scattered all about. Elessar did not look up when she made her presence known, but remained hunched over a map, lain atop many others that were strewn upon the desk. A calloused finger traced an unmarked path from an area in the northwest, south around the mountains past Edoras and to the White City.

"My lord, you desired to see me?" she asked nervously.

At last he looked up, smiling at her and bidding her to sit. For a time, there was an awkward silence where he merely looked at her. It seemed he was hesitant to tell her something, and Silmarien felt it was a vain hope that he would gently refuse her. Fidgeting with her sleeves, her mind raced for something to say to break the awful silence.

"What journey does my lord plan for, that he studies so many maps?" Mari finally asked.

The king's face suddenly melted into a soft smile. Silmarien couldn't help but think that it was radiant, and that he was a very handsome man. But then, she did not know him, and did not think that it would be the best match for either of them.

"I await a company of travellers, and I greatly anticipate their arrival," he answered. Mari nodded, trying to think of something else to fill the silence with, but coming up with nothing. Aragorn looked at the woman sitting before him, his eyes glittering at a sudden memory.

"You are nearly a stranger to me, Silmarien," he said quietly, "you have grown tall and very beautiful.When last I saw you, you were but a child."

Silmarien looked up at him in confusion, her dark eyebrows knit together. "Forgive me, my lord, but I do not recall ever meeting you before that day in the Houses of Healing."

Elessar smiled outright, remembering the day. "I do. I was walking the streets of the city. A child of a noble family seemed to have lost her way and was in the fifth circle of Minas Tirith. There were two young boys who had cornered her and were teasing the poor child about how clean her gown was. They tried to make her like them. Dirty, smelly, toughened."

Silmarien looked down, closing her eyes. Yes, she remembered when she was a small child, that day when she was lost. She was seven years old at the time. Mari remembered all the sights, the smells...the fear and shame.

"When they saw me approaching, they ran, leaving the poor girl with her dress soiled and her ribbons unravelled."

Silmarien could see it clearly now in her memory. The tall, unkempt man who so kindly held out his hand for her to take. His soft voice comforted her, soothing away her fear.

_"Come," he said, his smile reassuring and pleasant as she wept. "You need have no fear of me. I will take you back home where you belong."_

She had suddenly felt so safe with this dark man with a scruffy beard.

Elessar remembered how small her hand had felt in his, how insecure her touch when he had taken it. He remembered he took her in his arms and embraced her as he carried her to her chambers, and made sure she was safe again.

Silmarien looked at her king again, through tears that threatened to spill over to her cheeks. She remembered the Ranger who had rescued her from an unfamiliar place.

"Thorongil," she whispered.

Aragorn immediately rose and walked around the desk, embracing Silmarien like a father would his daughter. "So, we _have_ met, you see," he smiled. Silmarien laughed.

"I thought of you often, friend. I always remembered what you said to me," she murmured. "You said, 'There is courage of different kinds. Some have a dirty courage, which makes them unafraid of torn clothes or smelly, sweaty hands. Some have a spotless courage, in which the purity of their hearts help them to make their choices and keep to it."

"It is good to know that your heart was strengthened during the war, my friend," he said. Then his smile lessened. "And friend I shall always think of you. I confess my heart has been given to another for quite some time."

His grey eyes watched her, giving his meaning more weight and hoping that her heart would not be too greatly wounded. Silmarien nodded, understanding.

"And friend you shall always be to me, my lord. I do not think I could see you any other way."

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Well, there it is. Please review! I can't continue without feedback! 


	2. Elvish Magic

**Chapter Summary: **Aragorn's expected company arrives, a stranger comes to Silmarien with unexpected mischeif.

**Author Notes:** The rating will go up pretty soon, as I intend to have lots of wooing going on. :evil grin:

**Shout Outs:**

Jousting Elf with a Sabre – I find your reviews to be quite flattering. Please, continue! But I must say that you must not be exposed to writers who are sincerely in love with writing and take their task seriously. If this is true, I pity you.

Roisin Dubh – Randy. Such a fun word. :snicker:

Mercury Gray – Yep, you sure did, lil lady! Kudos!

* * *

It was evening when the guard on the wall raced to the king in his feasting hall, bringing the message that a large company of fair travelers had been sighted. Elessar jumped up from his seat and practically ran to receive them, ordering that guest chambers be made ready, more tables be set in the feasting halls and the best Gondorian wine be made available. 

When the foriegn company had at last reached the seventh circle of the city, they dismounted. A dark-haired lady drew her veil over her hair, her eyes glittering with anticipation. She searched for the man whom she had wated for several years. A fair-haired lord smiled and whispered his congratulations to her in their own tongue.

"You are certain, my lady, that you desire to live the rest of your days in this city?" he asked.

"Think you that I am unresolved, my lord?" she returned with a smile. "Yes, I would live here among my love's people."

"I must warn you of the rumors I have heard then," he answered with a smirk. "The King's court is filled with silly, perhaps empty-headed fools who gasp at misbehaviour. One must follow their rules of conduct and keep to it until they lay upon their death bed, else they be cast from their circle of aquaintances and be branded scandalous."

"Well then, I must make as much mischeif as I can," she laughed lightly. "For I shall not cast away the oddities of my race, no matter how scandalous they appear to mortals. I shall become one of them, but I shall remind them from whence I came."

"I wish you good fortune in this endeavor, for you will have much trouble from your husband's court."

"Perhaps I shall aquire allies. Tomorrow brings surprises, lord Glorfindel."

Lady Arwen's train was large, for she had not only been accompanied by the servants her father would allow her to keep, but also by her father's finest warriors and friends. Her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir had come, as well as the legendary lords Glorfindel, Lindir and Erestor.

At last, the King of Gondor rushed out of his halls to greet his bride to be, his eyes glowing with sudden youthful excitement. A part of his court had followed him to greet the company with him, but none kept up with his stride.

Lord Elrond himself delivered up his daughter's hand to Elessar, bowing. "You have earned your great treasure, son of Arathorn. Guard it well," he admonished.

Aragorn nodded, saluting the elf lord in the manner of Gondor, hiding a smile. At long last, the day had come. Lady Rhoswen looked on and snuck a smile at Boromir, who returned it and held her hand the tighter. Faramir and Eowyn did the same, oblivious that they were imitating anyone. Silmarien did not smile whole-heartedly, and looked on in silence.

"Come friends, and join me in my feasting hall! Dine with me and celebrate the coming of the Evenstar, your future queen!" Estel said, raising his voice so all could hear. The company of travelers were escorted by servants to guest rooms where they could refresh themselves before taking their meal.

During the excited pandemonium, Elessar's court welcomed Arwen's train of Elves greeting them and offering them various places at the tables. Silmarien stood aside however, and looked about her quietly. Satisfied that no one was watching her, she slipped away into the gardens that the king had allowed her family to keep. She had enough of feasting and celebrating. Silmarien was happy for her king, but his happiness was her pain. She couldn't bear it any longer.

"Am I to remain a spinster, or passed to suitors I cannot love? Why cannot I find a love as patient as Rhoswen's and Boromir's, or as soft as Faramir's and Eowyn's? Shall I be doomed to die alone?" she asked to the trees, who waved their leafy fingers at her as if attempting to take her into their arms to comfort her.

Her face contorted as she tried to hold in her angry tears. A sob racked her frame, and she covered her mouth to silence it as she sat upon a stone bench beneath a tree. The urge to weep in bitterness passed, and Silmarien covered her face with her hands, taking several deep breaths to calm herself. She sat in silence for a time after that, her hands falling to her lap. Suddenly a strange voice called to her, a murmur on the soft breeze.

"My lady," it said. Silmarien gasped and wiped at her eyes in case there were beginnings of tears, quickly standing as she looked about for the owner of the voice. There was a tall, lithe figure standing slightly in the shadows, the moonlight that filtered through the trees revealing blonde hair.

"A woman such as you should not weep, tonight of all nights," the stranger said, the deep voice revealing that it was a man. His tone was kindly and patient as he questioned her. "What troubles such a rose of Gondor?"

Silmarien was quite frankly, embarrassed. She blushed feircely for she had been caught, by a visitor no less. How much had he heard? Surely he understood all that she had said for he spoke the Common Tongue flawlessly. For a few moments, she stuttered.

"Not...I mean...I'm..."

The elf lord - for no doubt he was, by the exquisite garments he wore - said nothing, waiting for her to collect herself. After a few moments of her fidgeting, he came closer, the moonlight playing over his face. His sharp features etched into her memory, the high cheekbones, the long nose, a soft smile that was comforting. His eyes were grey and sharp as an eagle's. Silmarien fell silent and stared at the handsome stranger, completely forgetting the fact that she was supposed to be explaining her outburst. His smile turned to one that edged on laughter.

"Do I amuse you, good lady?" he asked.

"Perhaps...I mean...no! Forgive me, my lord, but I've not seen an elf...that is to say, I have seen an elf before, but it was many years ago when I was very young," she replied quickly, hoping not to offend him. Silmarien looked at her slippers and wished that the ground would swallow her up.

The elf thought about this for a moment. "You are lord Denethor's youngest, are you not? Silmarien?"

Mari nodded, wondering how he could have discovered her family and name so quickly - he had only arrived in the city half an hour ago. He smiled a little wider, nodding as well.

"A good name. She was a superb queen, and a great lady."

Silmarien knit her eyebrows together. "You knew the first high queen of Numenor?" she asked, amazed.

"The ancestress of Isildur and Anarion," he replied. "Yes, I knew her. She was a good friend. Be not so surprised, my lady, for I have lived many ages of men, and have traveled the breadth of Endor many times."

"Forgive me my lack of knowledge," she hastily said, once again looking at her slippers. How she desired to run away! Her foolishness had been shown him many times. Of course he had outlived those of her race, he was an elf! But she had not counted on him being so old as he claimed. She felt a soft breath upon the crown of her head and looked up only to have her breath taken away. He was so close to her now that if he wished to lower his head any further, their noses would have touched.

Mari had been proud to say that she was tall for a woman of her race, but she only stood to his shoulder. His closeness to her made her tremble. Not only did she not know him but the unfamiliar excitement of the complete unchasteness of their position quite strangely delighted her. Even after her silliness he chose to advance. She could smell his aroma, and it made her senses spin. Her blush deepened as his hand slowly moved to hold her by the waist. If he said anything, she did not hear it. Her eyes focused upon his lips, which were coming closer to brush her cheek. His eyes, those ageless pools of wisdom were frighteningly bright and were lit with something Silmarien had never before experienced - seductive desire.

Abruptly her senses returned and she gasped. "Forgive me my lord, I must away," she made excuse as she rushed out of the garden.

"Namaarie, hiril nin," he murmured to the empty space where once she stood. His smile grew ever roguish, for he had found a pearl in the City of Kings that he desired and vowed he would have.

Later that night as Silmarien lay in her bed, the scene in the garden replayed in her mind over and over again. Why had it happened? She did not know this man, and yet the fact that he had tried to kiss her was thrilling. She liked it. For so long, she had been told to behave with modesty, as a lady should be quiet, composed and ultimately predictable. The stranger in the garden was unpredictable, and the adventure of his enticement made her secretly want more. Another part of her wished it had not happened, and that she could have run away. What made her stay?

"Must have been Elvish magic," she murmured as she fell asleep.

* * *

Whoo! What a turn on! 


	3. Plans of a Golden Wolf

**Chapter Summary:** Arwen's brothers and their teacher make plans to be as mischeveious as they possibly can.

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The next morning dawned upon weary revelers. The celebration had lasted quite a long time, and allowed very little sleep. In a guest room lay the Lady Undomiel's brothers, who were a still little drunk and not at all tired. They thrived on feasts and late nights, and had talked with each other until the sun kissed their fair skin. It was then that their long-time tutor joined them in their conversation.

"Brother, I must say that I shall have much delight in my stay here in Minas Tirith. These silly women in Estel's court are quite easily confounded. I must confess, however, they are too innocent and need educating."

"Yes, their traditions force them to be meek and manageable. Perhaps Arwen will need our help instilling our culture into the city."

"Making plans for trouble already? I have taught you well, but you are still tardy."

"Glorfindel, what took you so long to come to us?"

"Yes, I was beginning to be bored!"

The two brothers bantered with each other as Glorfindel sat and propped his feet on another chair. The twins had not properly undressed for sleep - for they had none - but it was no surprise to the blonde elf lord that they were half dressed. He had always found them so in the chambers they always shared. Elladan, the older of the two by two seconds, had unbuttoned his high-collared tunic but had left it on, his belt loosened but still about his waist as he sat like Glorfindel. Elrohir's upper body was completely bare as he lay on his stomach on the bed, his chin propped by his crossed arms.

"So tell me, why are we so late in our plan-making?" Elrohir asked, his eyes only slightly dulled by drink. "We would have started last night, but we were a bit busy with merry-making."

"I did not see you at the feast, Glorfindel. Tell me not that you were sleeping!" Elladan smiled wryly.

"For your information, I was taking my pleasure with a very noble lady who seemed to desperately need my services," Glorfindel replied, affecting the air of an accomplished man.

"What?" the twins shouted. "And you didn't tell us? Who is she, what does she look like? Does she make good sport of it?"

Glorfindel threw his head back and laughed. "Let me speak, and I will tell you! I didn't seek you out because firstly, I had followed her to the gardens after we had arrived, and secondly, I prefer to work alone."

Elladan leaned closer, smiling woflishly. "And did she enjoy the manner of our people?"

"I confess I did not satisfy my goal, for she was frightened by my craving, I think. However I am certain she enjoyed what little she received."

"That is good work, Glorfindel," Elrohir laughed. "To be in the city merely half an hour and have already found a lady to woo. But you did not tell us her name. Praise her to us, what inspired you to follow her?"

"She is taller than most women of Gondor. Her hair is like the dark cloak of Queen Elbereth, and softer than silk. Her skin is like velvet and fair and unblemished. Her frame is slender and enticing but she is stronger than other women I think. I have seen her stand beside other women and her build is more muscular. I suppose she may have fought during the war at some point. Her eyes are grey, and her face is a little sharp. I deem she has elf-blood running through her veins."

"Ai, you have intrigued us," Elladan exclaimed excitedly. "Her name, Glorfindel, share with us her name!"

"Surely it would be a delight for your tongue to speak it!" Elrohir teased.

"Her name is Silmarien, in honor of the Numenorian queen. She is the daughter of Lord Denethor, and her brothers are Boromir and Faramir."

"Ah, you have set your eyes upon a treasure that will be given only very grudgingly. I hear that Lord Denethor seeks to give her to her cousin Barahir."

"Yes, I met her intended last night. He fairly sings her praises and yet he mourns the fact that she has not accepted him yet, though he has proposed to her nearly every year since she was introduced to society. How long the poor fool must wait! Perhaps she does not love him in return?" Elladan mused aloud.

"If that is true, then I am quite fortunate," Glorfindel replied with a roguish grin. "Do not think that I went very far last night, but a kiss could have been had, were she not suddenly mindful of the conduct of her people."

"A kiss, say you? I see you _have_ been productive!" Elrohir mocked. "Perhaps tonight she will let you hold her hand!"

"I'll have none of your derision, elfling," Glorfindel suddenly frowned. He enjoyed the fact that he was feared by the twins he once tutored, and made them remember their terror of him when he was weary of their jests at his expense - which was more often than he'd like to admit.

"What shall you do, Glorfindel? Shall you attend a lady who does not know your true nature, that you are a wolf? Shall you seduce a lady who is timid in letting it continue?"

"She will allow it, of that I am certain. I overheard her speak to herself in the garden before I made my presence known. I do not think she loves her cousin, for she made reference to growing old alone. Perhaps she will find her happiness with me."

"Go to it, then," Elrohir smiled. "Be as tantalizing as an Elf can be, for you have already seemed to ensare her. Show her what she could have, Glorfindel! Show her that love is not, nay, should not be tame."

"I need no exhortations from you, thou progeny. Have you forgotten who taught you the art of conquest? I have seduced and lost interest in more dizzy, featherbrained women than you have met. Forget not that I am a lord of the lost Gondolin, which housed more beauty than your petty Imladris. But this woman I shall have to myself, for she is alluring in her own manner, though it has been caged for many years. If you interfere, I shall make you regret it to the end of your days."

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Rawr! 


	4. Dance of the Wolf and Raven

**Chapter Summary: **More seduction and a declaration of desire.

**Author Notes: **Rating will eventually go up (again). Don't worry, R is the highest I'll take it. I just can't help it, Glorfindel is forcing me to go to extreme measures. He's just so damn sexy!

Glorfindel (with wry grin): But this is simply how I always behave!

**Shout Outs:**

Jousting Elf With A Saber - The only reason I write like this is because I am incredibly hard on myself, and I continue to practice. This is what I want to do for the rest of my life. I eventually want to write a novel for young adults and have it published. Big dreams are only accomplished through lots and lots of hard work.

Roisin Dubh - Mistress of the Genre, eh:chuckles: Why thank you for the flattery! And Glorfindel is going to be as randy as he can possibly get. He's got sex on the brain and he's gonna get it before this fic is over!

Mercury Gray - Yes, you wrote chapter two. Please forgive me that I didn't give you credit. I shall try to remember to post that whenever it's due. I'm very sorry about that.

Andromida-1971 - Wolfish rogues are very fun. They'll do whatever it takes to get what they want.

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The King and Queen of Gondor had been wed for six days already, as well as Lord Boromir and Lady Rhoswen. The married lovers had been seen very little in that time, leaving Faramir and a few other courtiers in charge of the court. After the seventh day, Queen Arwen Undomiel issued a general invitation to her husband's court and her train to attend a masquerade to celebrate her recent marriage and the end of the war. Eowyn was thrown into an excited dizziness. She had never been to a masquerade and begged Silmarien to help her with her gown and mask.

"Come Eowyn, it is nothing to be so concerned over. I fear that you shall faint if you go on like this," Silmarien smiled at the woman she already considered a sister.

"Do not be so cruel to me, Mari," Eowyn replied. "I have not been brought up to expect feasts and parties and celebrations simply because one is happy."

"I suspect there will be a great many festivals given by the queen. She seems to be the sort to celebrate the changing of seasons. I admire her love for life! Do not think that I dislike such joy."

And so the two women sent for servants to make especial gowns for them as quickly as possible. Silmarien advised Eowyn to dress as a fox to confuse her brother Faramir, who would expect her to make homage to her country's love of their horses. Fiery reds and golds were used for her gown which flowed elegantly and yet allowed enough movement for lightfooted dancing. Silmarien herself designed a hairstyle for Eowyn so that she would not be recognised by those who were not used to seeing her hair combed back. Eowyn's mask covered the upper half of her face, allowing her smile to still peirce Faramir's heart. Her blue eyes would flash behind the brightly colored disguise.

"Silmarien, you've done well for me," the princess of Rohan exlaimed when she at last tried on the entire ensemble. "I can't wait until the feast! How I shall laugh, because Faramir will not know me!"

"Remember that at midnight the masks will come off, and he will be sure to chase after you then!" Silmarien laughed.

"What shall you go as, Mari?"

"Come to my chambers, and I will show you. I have it hidden, though I think people will know immediately who I am."

Silmarien had put together a gown that was light and silvery. The silk shimmered as if it were made with mithril, and a matching veil was temporarily attatched to the bodice and sleeves to create the illusion of wings. Her mask, which was designed in the same fashion as Eowyn's, was completely black, save for the edges which were lined by silver threads. She had chosen to attatch small black feathers to silver combs she would pin her hair back with. When she tried on her costume, Eowyn gasped.

"A raven! Oh, how clever you are, Silmarien, to play upon the title your people have given you!"

"Yes, but I am certain that my identity will not be in question. So be it, I did what I could," Mari laughed.

At last, the night of the masquerade came, and the feasting hall was near overflowing with excited guests and colorful costumes. Aragorn and Arwen were quite easily distinguished from any others - their masks matched and paid homage to the male and female lion.

Faramir made his entrance, dressed in green velvets and adorned by a shimmering green mask. He immediately spotted his sister and went to her, smiling. "I feel like an imbicile. Do I look like one as well?" he asked her goodnaturedly.

"No, of course not," she replied, adjusting the collar of his tunic. "But tell me, what are you supposed to be?"

His lips twitched and he looked away. "A lizard."

Silmarien threw back her head and laughed. "Poor brother!" she said after she caught her breath to kiss his cheek. "Fear not, if anyone criticizes your costume, I shall swoop down upon them and darken their eyes for their insolence."

"So comforting to know I have a raven to protect me," he chuckled. "But where is Eowyn?"

With an amused smile, Silmarien bade him look for her if he could. As he turned to do so, Boromir and Rhoswen appeared. Rhoswen waved at her sister-in-law and took Boromir's hand, nearly dragging him behind her.

"Isn't this such fun," she laughed. "I haven't been to a masquerade in so long!"

"I am amazed that you could convince my brother to actually dress according to the occasion. Pray, tell me your costumes!"

"I am a cat, of course. Meow!" Rhoswen laughed.

Boromir's lips were set in a fine line. It was obvious he was not yet comfortable in the role that his wife delegated to him. "And I am a ferret," he said a bit unhappily.

"There are worse fates, Boromir," his sister giggled. "You could be a lizard."

Boromir suddenly cracked a smile. "Show me this lizard and I shall laugh at him."

"Go find him yourself, but I warn you that if you laugh, there will be consequences, for he is under my protection."

So feasting and drinking went, and not long after the entrance of the latest guests, several feminine shreiks were heard. Silmarien had just taken for herself a goblet of wine and was forced to step back so that a red butterfly could escape a pair of dark-haired hunting dogs who had pointed ears. Lothiriel, who had dressed as a mouse, was with Silmarien and shook her head.

"I am glad Lord Denethor decided to decline his invitation and retire early to his rest," she said. "If he had been here, he would have called the guards on those two elves. They will never adhere to the modesty of Gondor's court."

"I think that the presence of a race who does not care to put on a pretense of reserve will do good to this court. It is time that they are shaken to wakefulness. I have seen too much false chastity here, and I tire of it. Look, there is Lady Alfirin. Her father named her because he was enamored of the Elven way of speaking, and yet he did not take the time to teach her decorum. See how coyly she glances at the poor Rohirrim warrior she speaks to!"

"Yes, I see what you mean. But I still think that the introduction of Elvish ethics - or lack thereof - will send this court into a scandal. I confess that it is not so restricted in my father's court, but we are not as free with ourselves as the purer-blooded of our kin are."

"Ah, so you admit that you are worse than I!" Silmarien laughed. Lothiriel joined her.

"Perhaps, but not so bad as the Lord Elrond's court!"

As the night progressed, Silmarien grew uncomfortably warm and sought to cool herself in the garden. She could still hear the music from the feasting hall, and after a time danced along to the tune, stepping lightly and clapping in time to the lively dance.

Glorfindel had grown weary of watching the twins chase after the poor butterfly and searched out the dark-haired lady he had met in the gardens a week ago. He spotted her just as she turned to leave. Pushing past an owl and a hare, he followed her to the gardens and was delighted to witness the grace of her lithe frame as she danced. When the song ended, he came into the light and called to her.

"Hail, Lady Raven," he said, bowing. "We meet again."

It seemed that she was more prepared to meet him than their previous encounter.

"Greetings, my lord," she smiled, assuming it was the elf lord who had tried to kiss her. "I see that you are a...wolf, tonight?"

He smiled in a manner that made her shiver right down to her feet. "Indeed, I am a wolf every night."

Tilting her head to the side, Silmarien considered his words. "Shall I then be able to trust you to keep company with me, Lord Wolf?"

He bowed again. "May I die a dishonorable death if I am not trustworthy."

"Very well said, but I must continue. Your conduct when last we spoke would have been frowned upon were my brothers or father present. Indeed, if my father hears reports of my seduction by a stranger, he shall be angered and perhaps order your imprisonment."

"I do not fear imprisonment, my lady. But if I may say so, I could not help myself on our last encounter."

Silmarien blinked behind the mask. Was this elf wooing her? It thrilled the very fiber of her being. Barahir was never so bold when he spoke to her. His manner of a shy boy who was fighting to prove himself to her was wearying, and left her feeling empty. This...mysterious worshipper didn't feel the need to prove himself to her. He was already confident that she would accept him, and offered her many chances to do so.

"Are you then not in control of your passion, sir?" she smiled, teasing him.

His lips twitched. _So, she is curious,_ he thought. _Then I have gained some ground._

"If you think that I had no control, you know me not."

After a moment of shocked silence, Silmarien regained her ability to speak. "Disclose to me your deeds, then, Lord Wolf," she said. "For indeed, I know you not and yet I wish to remedy it. Come, let us be acquainted."

He came closer and kissed her proffered hand. But it was no chaste, ordinarey kiss. His lips opened slightly and let his teeth graze her knuckles, scratching her lightly and then letting his tongue caress the hurt. He watched her as he did so, and noted that her breath was leaving her and that her eyes were wide and slightly darker.

"Is this how you treat a woman," she asked quietly, her voice trembling.

Glorfindel straightened and smiled wickedly, knowing she wanted more. "Nay, only a woman who tempts me to throw away all decorum and reason."

She had not withdrawn her hand from his grasp, and so he continued to hold it, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. Silmarien watched as he raised her hand to his lips, this time kissing her fingers, one by one touching his lips to the very tips. More than once did he set his teeth gently to her sensitive skin, sending sensations up her arm.

"What manner of man are you," she murmured. "I do not even know your name, and yet you seek to overpower me with whatever brazen, dark magic you have in you."

"This is magic? At last, I understand what mortals mean by that term. And why do you desire to know my name? So that you may speak it to your brothers and hasten my arrest, or so that you may murmur it in your sleep when you dream of pleasant things?"

"How dare you speak so of me!" she returned, tearing her hand from his grasp. "I will not be enticed by such an arrogant one as you!"

Before she could turn away, he stepped closer, backing her against a tree in the garden so that she could not escape. Silmarien's eyes narrowed.

"I shall call for the guards," she threatened.

"I shall run faster than their lazy feet can come," he replied. "And I'll venture to say that you would never cry out for help. You have enjoyed everything I said to you, for no one has ever been so bold to the daughter of the mighty Steward of Gondor. No one has ever dared to approach you, the unattainable lady with a sureity that he could walk away knowing he has won you. Come, lady, admit it. You savor the forbidden because it has never come to you."

"You insolent..."

Silmarien could not finish, for his lips had suddenly covered hers in a feirce kiss. His tongue licked at her lips, demanding entrance. When she did not give it, his mouth pressed against hers and opened it for her, after which his tongue plundered her mouth mercilessly. She fought against it for a time, trying to push him away. When she failed, she succombed to his invasion and discovered she enjoyed the taste of wine upon his lips, the feel of his tongue licking the roof of her mouth. When he pulled away, she was breathless, and he smirked at the sight of her swollen lips.

"What think you of me now, Lady Raven?" he purred, his hands at her waist.

"I think you a selfish beast."

"Praise indeed," he chuckled. "But?"

"But," she continued, "If you would have me think otherwise of you, demonstrate a gentler passion."

"My passion is what has already been named by you - selfish and beastly. However, if you wish it..."

Glorfindel lowered his head and kissed her again, this time allowing her to open her mouth to him of her own will. It was slower this time, not as urgent, but still quite deep. His hands moved up to her back, pulling her close to his body in a firm embrace she could not escape even if she wanted to. Her own hands slid up his chest and around his neck. The Elf heard her sighs and delighted in his momentary victory. She was enjoying this, and he was encouraged.

Again, they pulled away, and Glorfindel smiled at her. She looked away, suddenly guilty at feeling pleasure. But it felt so good! His touch, his kiss - both of them - excited her beyond all reason. But what would her father say? She was intended for someone else, someone she did not feel excitement for.

"I am a shameful, villainous creature!" she mourned.

"Why so?" the lover behind the golden mask asked. "Because you enjoyed a kiss?"

"Because I must obey my father and be wed to my cousin, while my senses are stolen away by another."

"Ah, the truth at last. But that is easily remedied! Let me go to your father, and beg favor. Surely he would not deny me, if you prefer my suit."

"What? You, who will not even give me your name?"

"Hear me speak it now, and remember it well," he murmured, his lips lowering to nibble on the delicate flesh of her neck. "I am Glorfindel, a lord of the forgotten city of Gondolin and advisor to Elrond of Rivendell. And you, Lady Silmarien, daughter of Denethor, are desireable in my eyes. I would seek your favor, if you would have me."

He continued to nip at her throat, being careful not to leave any lasting marks. Her tremulous sighs made him smile and gave him his answer. "Yes," she hissed, her dark eyebrows knit together. "Yes!"

* * *

Steamy! Leave reviews, if you can move at all! 


	5. Making Alliances

**Chapter Summary:** Denethor grants Glorfindel a private audience, Queen Arwen seeks to make allies in her new home and Barahir suffers the slow death of unrequited love.

**Shout Outs:**

Jousting Elf With A Saber - If you don't like make-outs, you might not want to read the rest of this story...

Terreis - YAY! At last, you review! I thought you had gotten sick again, or something. Glad you like the story and my style of romance. If you and Roisin Dubh like it, then I guess I must be doing pretty well! And the picture of Nighthawk was put together on a website which housed the Hero Machine. I can't draw worth crap.

Mercury Gray – I won't chastise him. That's what I told him to do!

Roisin Dubh – Barahir was at the masquerade, but I didn't know what to have him as, and so I just left it to the imagination. And Silmarien was purposely trying to stay out of the way. And I am honored at the thought that you, an already published author think me "all that"!

* * *

Having spent a few days to recover from the masquerade, the city of Minas Tirith was once again happy and yet peaceful, until the Queen's brothers decided to search out the best alehouses. Their flamboyancy gained favor with the barmaids and their gold with the proprietors. Rumors began to spread of their prowess, and even the ladies of the court whispered of their desire for an insatiably greedy Elven lover. 

Barahir too, had heard these rumors and disliked the presence of Elves in the court. He respected the Queen of Gondor, but her brothers had made a fool of him on more than one occasion. Their play at word games and unneeded shows of high intelligence and refinement were too much. He sought out his cousin to escape the twins who made a laughingstock of him.

"Tell me cousin, how long until they leave, do you think?" he asked irritatedly when he closed the door to her sitting room upon Elrohir who was babbling something in his own language.

Silmarien looked up from a cloak she was hemming with a smile. "Why do you dislike them so, Barahir?" she chuckled through the pins.

"Because they make men feel inadequate. If it were truly better for them to stay, then why would you need those you've grown up with, and lived with for so long?"

"Oh, Barahir," she sighed, knowing his trouble but not knowing how to comfort him. "They're not so bad. You must learn to bandy words like them. Perhaps if they know you can be as effective as they, it will cause them to leave you be!"

"But am I not already as effective as I need to be?" he asked, looking at his cousin earnestly like a little boy waiting for his mother's approval.

Silmarien put away her sewing and went to her cousin, clasping his face in her hands. "You are a lord of Dol Amroth, the Prince Heir. How can you doubt your worth? Did you not save me from Corsairs when we were young?"

Barahir could never look long into her eyes. He always cursed himself for being weak, that he could not even gaze into the eyes of the woman he loved most dearly. But her touch was so pleasant, so assuring. The softness of her hands on his skin made him wish he were a better man, that she would be more proud of him, and even accept his suit. She had told him it was because she was unsure of their happiness together. Secretly he knew. His love was not returned, and he knew it though she never said it. His eyes closed tightly when he felt her lips brush against his cheek, pressing ever so gently to leave a kiss. Did she know how much she was hurting him, even though he craved such contact?

"I must go, Barahir. My lady the queen has sent for me," Silmarien said, pulling away. "I will see you later in the day."

After she had gone, Barahir went to the chair at which she had sat and clutched the backrest, nearly crushing the unfortunate wood beneath his hand. "This love will be my death," he mourned, not knowing that his assassin was on his way at that moment to speak to Denethor.

The former Steward had just dressed for the day when a servant told him that one of the Elves wished to speak with him.

"Send him in," he bade his servant, making his way to a cushioned chair. A tall lord whom he knew entered and bowed, smiling. "Greetings, Denethor," his visitor said.

"Lord Glorfindel, old friend," the son of Ecthelion II exclaimed. "I have not seen you for many years. Come, sit!"

Denethor had used to take delight in engaging in verbal battles with anyone who could dare. Glorfindel had actually baited him into a debate once, and he had enjoyed every minute of it. It was not often he could take sport with one as witty and cunning as the advisor to Lord Elrond, and even rarer that anyone lured him into a battle of the minds. They had become fast friends.

Glorfindel allowed small talk to draw on until Denethor brought them back to focus. "Come, you did not approach me to remember the days when my hair was less gray," he chuckled.

"You know me too well, Denethor," Glorfindel smiled. "In truth, I had come on a rather delicate matter, concerning one you treasure greatly."

Denethor's smile lessened a bit, and his brow knit together as was his way when a solemn matter came to his attention. He knew immediately whom it was that his old friend spoke of. "What about my daughter?" he said at last.

* * *

Arwen was rifling through packages and chests of wedding gifts from several kingdoms. Some were older and some more recently given. So it was that Silmarien found her queen as she tried to curtsey amid towering boxes of silk, velvet and glittering jewels. Arwen laughingly took her hand and lead her to her bedchamber, where it was less cluttered. Silmarien was surprised by this, as a lady – or even a man, for that matter – never entertained anyone in their most private chambers unless the two were intimate such as a husband and wife, or brother and sister.

"My lady, you sent for me," Silmarien began, trying to cover her shock.

"Silmarien, I have heard good report of you," Arwen smiled pleasantly. "I desired to see for myself if these reports were true."

"The truth of the report might be questioned according to who spoke it," Mari returned, feeling as though she had walked willingly into the den of the hungry lioness.

"Nay I shall never question my husband," the queen replied, secretly delighting in the response she got. She knew of Denethor's attempt to marry her beloved to a member of his court, but was told exactly who by a vicious gossiper whom Arwen did not like.

The daughter of Elrond had decided right then that she would spy out a courtier of Minas Tirith she could trust and get to the bottom of who meant her ill and who was loyal. Aragorn immediately elected Arwen's first candidate to be Silmarien, as she had dealt with the backbiters long enough to fight fire with fire, and would equip her with weapons she would need.

Silmarien however, was wondering how she was going to leave this conversation alive. If Arwen suspected her to have betrayed her intended before she had arrived in the city, there was no way she could have defended herself save hiding behind her father's wishes. She elected that to be her last resort.

"Come, Silmarien," Arwen took her hand gently. "I am unfamiliar with the people of my husband's court. I do not know whom I may befriend for my good and who will deceive me to my ruin. I sent for you so that I could gain friends here. Pray, tell me who shall benefit me as I attempt to help my lord the king."

Mari never felt so relieved in her life. "I am honored that you would seek my aid, my lady," she smiled. "I do not think that you will gain many allies until politics force you to a decision, but for now, I think you are rather well off. There are some however, who might be won over by a subtle whisper or some act of grace. Unfortunately there are a few who will merely dislike you for petty arrogance, like Lord Anaron…"

And so the two conspired and became friends. Some courtiers who disliked Silmarien for her rank and favor with the king and queen would whisper that she committed treason that day, and made alliances with the Elven race. There was no going back.

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Review! 


	6. Two Sorts of News

**Chapter Summary:** The first test must befall Glorfindel and Silmarien's courtship – separation.

**Shout Outs:**

Jousting Elf With A Saber – I think Glorfindel's trying to get something from you…

Mercury Gray – I don't think that can be applied here, because Barahir is older than Silmarien by 2 years.

Roisin Dubh – You're making my head swell…stop it! No seriously, I'm quite flattered that you like my work that much!

* * *

The sun was still rising in the sky when she looked down upon two lovers who walked through the gardens of Minas Tirith. The woman was upon her lord's arm, and her head rested upon his shoulder. The man laid his cheek softly upon her silken hair and sang softly to her as they walked. At length, she sighed and spoke.

"I wish I could stay here forever, my love. But my brother will ride for Edoras soon, and I must go with him."

"I shall miss you greatly, Eowyn," her lover replied. "But I must prepare a place for you. Lord Elessar has given me Ithilien to be my land, and I rejoice because my heart sought to protect its borders as a Ranger."

"Ah, Faramir, I still wish I could remain at your side," Eowyn mourned, wrapping her arms around Faramir's torso. "It makes my heart sick at the thought of leaving you."

"If you do not return, I shall go to Edoras myself and bring you back. I would not allow you to be absent for long," Faramir smiled, lowering his head to her lips, kissing her tenderly.

In that moment, a joyous shout broke them apart from their short-lived moment of intimacy. Denethor was standing at his balcony, leaning heavily upon the stonework, smiling like an old fool, beckoning them closer.

"Kiss her again, my lad, and rejoice with me!" he laughed, shouting at his second son as he hurried to stand beneath the balcony. "At last, your sister has formally accepted the attention of a suitor!"

"What?" Faramir cried out in surprise. "Fortune has smiled on Barahir after all?"

"Alas for the boy, no. An admirer whom you know has asked for my blessing and her permission, and she has accepted!"

"Pray, my lord, keep us not in restlessness," Eowyn smiled, "tell us whom it may be that she has chosen!"

"It is the Lord Glorfindel of Rivendell!" Denethor replied. "What say you to that!"

"Lord Glorfindel!" Faramir exclaimed. "What unsought for blessing! His honor is great and his deeds of valor mightier than we could ever hope for! My sister has chosen well, and I am happy for her."

The one person who should have been happy at this news was not. Silmarien was in the process of beseeching the elf lord to remain in Minas Tirith a little longer. He had told her he was going to depart with Lord Elrond and the other elves of Rivendell who did not desire to stay with Arwen. His party would leave within two days.

"Why then did you seek out my father? Why do you taunt me so cruelly and then depart?" she asked agitatedly.

Glorfindel had pity on the poor woman, for she had a right to be upset. It was very plain that she had not been given the excitement of affection that a woman was meant to have in romance, and almost regretted getting her hopes up. He turned to her.

"Come, Silmarien," he said. "I do not go because I want to, but because I must. I am needed in Rivendell."

"You are needed here as well," she replied, on the verge of tears. What had come over her? Had he cast a spell upon her so that she would reveal such emotion so early in their courtship?

Glorfindel took her hand and kissed it gently, smoothing her hair with his other hand. "Glad am I to hear it. I must confess that your fervent wish for me to stay is tempting me to go to Elrond and beg leave to remain. But I cannot."

"If you go, it shall all be as a dream," she murmured, tears wetting her cheeks. "I shall awaken in the morning and wonder if it truly happened."

"Dear Silmarien, do you really think that I would abandon you after such a declaration of desire as the night of the masquerade?" he asked, wonderingly.

"I know only that you are a lord of high wit and cunning, for you have beguiled even my father into your trust," Mari replied bitterly. "And what pretty words they were! They were enough to nearly break me, were I not of stronger heart."

Glorfindel threw back his head and laughed. "After such earnestness, my intentions are still in question by the one who must be the most satisfied. Very well, Silmarien, your entreaties have left me no other option. To appease you, I leave behind this token. If it be a dream, then how could this be born on thy finger?"

An elven ring of high rank transferred from his hand to hers. The make was lightly fashioned silver, golden flowers interwoven between the other metal of the band. Silmarien paused in her soft weeping to gaze upon it in shock.

"I give to you a ring that I have treasured for many thousands of years. King Turgon of Gondolin bestowed it upon my house, the Golden Flower. When I became its lord, it was given to me. Bear it well, Silmarien and remember that I shall return for you."

Glorfindel would always recall that her eyes would become wide like a child's when she was astonished into silence. The way they sparkled even through tears with admiration and affection. The way her mouth would form a perfect circle when there was nothing she could say. The way she would blush to the bloom of a new rose in delight, as she did in that moment. He knew her demand for assurance had been satisfied.

"Think not that I shall go away from the City of Kings having simply given you tranquility," he continued roguishly. "Shall I depart without my own token of trust?"

Silmarien frantically searched within her mind for anything she had that would be of value that she could give him. She avoided his eyes while she flustered, and so she did not see his patient smile as he brought her into his powerful, lean arms.

"You are a silly woman," he whispered into her hair as she tentatively laid her head upon his chest. "I did not say the token must be tangible."

He felt her stiffen a little, and he could tell she was contemplating what he meant. Whether to help or hinder his words, he let his lips caress her forehead, softly kissing her.

"Twice now, you have kissed me, and both of them were not completely of my giving. Nay, I'll hear no excuses. The second kiss was so that you could send me to senselessness yet again. I give to you now a kiss of my own. Perhaps after receiving it, you will remember why your visit to my city was a pleasant one."

With that, Silmarien brought his head lower and rose on the balls of her feet slightly so that she could reach the lips that uttered her name in seduction, tenderness and sincerity. Her kiss was a delight to him and when it had passed, he smiled.

"That will haunt me on the northbound road," Glorfindel unintentionally sighed. "May Saruman send wargs upon me if I do not keep faith with you, Silmarien."

"Speak not such a curse upon yourself, my lord," she hushed him quickly. "But go, and remember that here remains a poor maid who prays the stars to light your path."

Two days later, Aragorn set out with the Elven company and Eomer's train to escort them part way on their journey. Silmarien stood on a balcony with her queen, who had given her much favor, watching them depart. Arwen knew of Silmarien's recent attachment to Glorfindel and intended to help her through the next months in which she would have to endure his absence.

"Come," she said, when they had gone, "if he is determined to be away from you so long, let us surprise him. When he returns, he will discover that you have not been idle. I will teach you the speech of my race, so that he will keep no secrets from you, nor will my servants' news be unknown to you. Come, Silmarien, there is work to be done!"

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Review, or face the wrath of Freddie, my pet balrog! 


	7. Hollen I Ven!

**Chapter Summary:** Silmarien learns much about her lover's culture from her Queen. Her lessons are going smoothly, and yet she discovers she is the subject of vicious gossip. Barahir becomes the target of a dangerous woman's plot for power. Will he let Mari save him the pain of false love, or will she be forced to put her cunning to use?

**Shout Outs:**

Terreis :dies laughing: Elrohir babbles because it's a weakness. That's hilarious! And I'm glad you like the Faramir/Eowyn bit. Had to throw that in. Hehe, you only said that the ring was shiny because of my email signature. And I just write as well as I can, the emotions are all on you!

Jousting Elf With A Saber – Glorfindel wouldn't do that…maybe if you stop calling him Glorfy, though…try Glory.

Andromeda-1971 – Hehe. Yeah, there's an elf for ya. Instant hunk, just throw Sandro Kopp into a pair of tights and give him pointy ears.

Mercury Gray - Sappy and cutesy is needed in sprinkled measures, I'm afraid. And yes, Denethor is a coot, and Eowyn knows it, but likes him anyway!

Roisin Dubh - Glorfindel is well on his way to discovering that he simply cannot live without Silmarien. He will soon declare to anyone who will listen that he is in love.

* * *

The day was cool and yet warm enough for a venture into the gardens in mid-September. Arwen sat upon a stone bench in the shade of a tall tree, a book of elven poetry in her hands. To the jealous murmuring of the court of the White City, her frequent companion Silmarien sat with her in the royal gardens. Arwen had offered favor to few other women of court and even fewer had shown themselves worthy of it. The Queen had discovered that she was feared and mistrusted by those who were unused to a ruler of any decent other than Gondorian. Only one other than Mari defended her queen against the court, and yet her defense was weak, for her heart was shy and quiet. Arwen invited the woman into her company, thus offering her protection through rank, gently tutoring her into a more stout-heartedness. 

As Arwen gave Silmarien lines in Sindarin to recite, the mild lady Elemmírë listened as well, sharing a bowl of strawberries and cream with her companions.

"_Tolo, man le carel si?_" Silmarien spoke effortlessly. _"Hollen i ven!"_

"Mae carnen, Silmarien," Arwen smiled, closing the book. "I think we shall conclude the lesson for today. You have recited half the poem!"

"Ah! I thought it would never end," Mari laughed good-naturedly, taking a strawberry. "It is a long poem."

"Yes, I am afraid the poets of my people are long-winded. But you chose it, and I shall make you finish it!"

"Oh, but it is such a lovely language," Elemmírë said softly. "I do not mind listening to such a long poem if it is in such a fair speech, and as well spoken as Silmarien recites."

"Thank you, Mírë," Silmarien flushed with the pleasure of such praise. Elemmírë was a good friend and a tenacious spirit when one delved beneath the quiet shyness of her manner, which took some doing at times. The three companions made their way into the gardens allowed to the court, a servant gathering up the empty bowl and the blanket on which Mari had been sitting. They were laughing until the daughter of Denethor saw something that made her heart race with apprehension.

Not far off stood Lady Alfirin, who was well known to have coquettish ways if her fancy took to a man. The courtiers mostly looked the other way, forgiving her the folly. But standing beside her, holding her hand, nay kissing it was one who would be most greivously lost to her. Lord Barahir of Dol Amroth had arrived but two days ago on an errand for his father, and it seemed the artful gaze of Alfirin had been set upon him.

Arwen and Elemmírë too were surprised by this, for they both knew Alfirin to have a rutheless, greedy spirit. Elemmírë paled, for she knew that Lord Barahir had been hurt by Silmarien's acceptance of Lord Glorfindel, and yet it was with graciousness that he went to his cousin and wished her all possible joy. Yet this would utterly destroy him!

"I beg leave, my lady," Silmarien said to her queen without looking at her. Arwen understood and nodded.

Going to the couple who seemed not to see her until she was at their side, Silmarien greeted her cousin with a courtsey. "Pray forgive me, Barahir," she smiled. "I must steal away Alfirin for a moment on a matter of some importance. Lady, will you walk with me a while?"

Alfirin seemed unabashed by this sudden request and courtsied to Barahir who had released her hand. Silmarien's cousin bowed and went to the Queen, who beckoned him with a soft smile.

"You are well, I hope," Alfirin smiled, ignoring the ungentle hold Silmarien had upon her arm as they began to walk.

"Speak not of idleness," Silmarien said irritatedly. "What mean you, false woman, by blinding my cousin to reason?"

"What, you wish to have him to yourself? Vain Silmarien, you cannot have two suitors! What can you say against me, that I have granted his suit? If so, I will not deny the truth."

"Is this so?" Silmarien asked, astonished. "Has he asked your permission to court you?"

"Yes, and I have accepted," Alfirin replied with a victorious smile. Her eyes glittered at her long-time foe with a cold light. "Are you so against your cousin's happiness that you deny him yourself and anyone else he could love?"

"He does not know what true love is. You will destroy him with your pretended longings, your false appreciation of him."

"My appreciation of him is not false! He is a noble man, and his rank suits him."

"Wicked Alfirin!" Silmarien hissed. "You have always been as a hoard of locusts, seeking out a plentiful land and gorging yourself upon its bounty. When you have eaten the last grain of wheat, you lick your lips and move on for it is no longer of use to you. And so you flutter from man to man, seeping his gold from him until there is nothing left that he can give you. It ends here. I will not let you slay Barahir in such a cruel manner, for he has had enough heartbreak."

"Speak to thy cousin then, oh mighty Silmarien, for I fear you not. If he desires to part from me, then it will be his decision, and I shall make it as difficult as can be. You have your own troubles to deal with, I think. It is said that you had been alone with the Lord Glorfindel before he left, and much had happened. How much longer will it be now, until you discover that you carry his child?"

Had they not been within sight of the Queen and Barahir himself, Silmarien would have struck Alfirin for her audacious remarks. Instead, she assumed the role of the shrewd raven that her people had bestowed lovingly upon her. Her own eyes glittered with a light that was equally bright and even more fierce than her foe's.

"You have battled with me for many years, Alfirin," Silmarien whispered dangerously. "Only now are you brave enough to declare war, when something precious to me is at stake. But it seems, after so many years, you know me not! Were you there, upon the Pelennor when Mordor attacked? Did you have a sword in your hand when Faramir was stricken from his horse? Did you bear armor when orcs swarmed Minas Tirith? No, you were hiding in Lebannin, where it was deemed safe. Even my sister Rhoswen remained, when you ran in fear. I know war, and how to fight it, and still you seek to combat me. I say to you now that I will have no mercy. I shall _make_ you fear me, before I am finished."

Silmarien then left Alfirin, who stood in silence. This did not bode well for her, and she knew it. The city's Raven had claws and a caw that was heard by many and often heeded. It seemed that she had swallowed herself up in a business of which she did not know the depth.

"I shall make as much trouble for her as I can before my deeds are known," she said to herself in a strange sort of comfort.

* * *

Sindarin Translations: 

**Tolo, man le carel si?** Come, what are you doing here?

**Hollen i ven!** The way is shut!

**Mae carnen.** Well done.


	8. The Board is Set

**Chapter Summary:** A game of chess, where two queens battle for a king. Silmarien aquires allies and plans her battleground.

**Author Notes:** Since I know only a little Sindarin, I will make note when people speak it in italics. I promise it won't be confusing. And midterms are approaching, so this may be the last chapter for at least a couple of weeks.

**Shout Outs:**

Terreis – I changed my email signature. Now you can laugh at a new joke. Warning would be the best word, yes.

Roisin Dubh – Yes, the Raven will have not-so-secret agents to help her, as well. Then she will find something that will be of much use to her. Game's on, Alfirin!

Jousting Elf With A Sabre – I am lots of people's sister…Deb, Mercury Gray…. must be something I'm doing unconsciously. Not saying it's a bad thing, but I'm seeing a trend, and I don't know what I'm doing to make people want to adopt me!

Mercury Gray – Hollen I ven. The way is shut, Alfirin. She isn't getting ANY of Barahir, now that he has a very watchful guardian.

Dread Lady Freya - There won't be much left of Alfirin for her father to peice back together. And I'm glad you like Mari's romance!

* * *

Silmarien was greatly troubled. It had been several weeks since she had spoken to Alfirin in the garden, and yet the woman had not offered any attack, save that Barahir's regard of her was very high. Mari had spoken to her cousin on the matter and he refused to listen.

"Alfirin is a very beautiful spirit," he had said, "and she has been gracious to me. Cannot you make up your mind, Silmarien, that you try to bring her low in my eyes? Would you treat Lord Glorfindel as you have treated me?"

It was at that point that Silmarien realized that she could not speak sense to her cousin. Alfirin had affected him too greatly, as was her talent. It was well that he had left for Dol Amroth recently. Perhaps the ride or the sea air would bring him back to reason, but Mari doubted it. She sought out her brother Faramir for guidance.

"What am I to do, Faramir?" she mourned as they played a game of chess in his sitting room. "She will not cease and he will not listen."

"I am loth to say this of any woman, but I confess that Alfirin is a conniving wench," he replied, moving his knight. "She knows what she can use to her advantage, and what you may use also. Be wary, Silmarien, for this could turn into a nasty business."

"It became a nasty business when she showed me her intent," Silmarien retorted angrily, sending out a bishop. "Did I tell you what she said to me?"

"Yes, I remember it well," Faramir sighed, looking across the board. "It is unfortunate that she would perform a false sort of blackmail to win her way. Your move."

"But what am I to do in return, brother?" Mari again asked. "Shall I return attack in her manner, and so bring low my own esteem for myself?"

"I would not advise it. Rather find a way to take away any other options she would have left. Checkmate."

Silmarien suddenly looked at the chessboard as if she had just now realized they had been playing. An earnest and yet wicked smile spread across her lips. "That's it!" she whispered gleefully.

"What's it? What are you planning?" Faramir asked, knowing that Alfirin stood no chance if his sister's plan was as brilliant as she was making him believe.

"Checkmate! It is a game of chess we are playing, Alfirin and I," Silmarien said quickly, thoughts rushing like wild horses across a plain in Rohan. "She seeks to be underhanded, and go behind my back. I will do the same, and allow her a false sense of security."

"What mean you, Silmarien? Let me into your confidence, I pray."

"Alfirin is not one who would allow her misdeeds to be followed. Therefore I shall have to find some other means of bringing her low. Faramir, you studied the laws of Gondor when you were younger. Did you find any concerning marriages?"

"Yes, but they were old and lengthy. I remember only one, something about intervention."

Hastily standing, Silmarien kissed her brother's cheek. "I have work to do," she said. "May the Valar bless you, brother!"

When the records-keeper was told to find all texts of laws concerning marriage, he wondered greatly. The rumor was whispered around the court that Lady Silmarien sought to uncover any loopholes in the laws of her people so that she could marry the elven lord as quickly as possible. Alfirin smirked at this news, and rewarded the records-keeper with the gold coins she had promised him.

None saw Silmarien in the next days. She closed the door in the library, and let no one in until the queen herself demanded entrance. It was with great reluctance that she showed her monarch what she was up to. Even then, she was tight lipped and said little.

"Silmarien, remember that you have friends who would help you," Arwen admonished. "Even Elemmire has heard of this, and desires to aid you."

"Why?" Silmarien asked. "What could she gain from this?"

"I have learned much of her while you locked yourself away in this dusty prison," Undomiel smiled. "She has admitted to me at last that she admires your cousin Barahir, and wishes him all possible joy. She knows that Alfirin would only wound him, and has worried herself over any possible way she could help."

"Truly?" the daughter of Denethor smiled. "Gladly would I have her support."

And so Elemmire too locked herself away in the libraries with Silmarien while Arwen launched a counter rumor, which told the tale of Silmarien searching for laws on alliances, which she may present to her king an old standard that he might use in rebuilding his kingdom. The courtiersbegan to mistrust Silmarien, for if she desired to bring back the old ways of the kings, their role in the political system might lessen greatly. But it did not matter to her, for her only concern was that she kept Alfirin guessing, at which she was successful.

Late one night, Silmarien and Elemmire were walking back to their chambers together when Elemmire suddenly asked how she had come to the plot of searching through the libraries. Silmarien related to the lady of her game of chess with Lord Faramir, who suggested it unwittingly. Elemmire smiled.

"How clever of you, Silmarien," she praised. "Truly it is a game of chess that you play. Two queens against each other for the king. But there are other pieces you have that perhaps she does not."

"What mean you, Elemmire?" Silmarien asked, curious. Elemmire followed Silmarien to her sitting room where she set up the chessboard, taking out the two queens and a king.

"Here you and Alfirin are, and here is Barahir," she said, pointing to the pieces. "But here am I also."

Elemmire took out a rook and set it on the board. The meaning of her demonstration struck Silmarien at last. "Elemmire, the rook is one who can only strike when other pieces are cloaking it. Then it strikes quickly. See, you have placed the rook where, if there were knights and perhaps a bishop, it could take the king."

Elemmire blushed, her purpose now known to her friend. Silmarien did not miss the rosiness of her cheek. "Poor Mire! For so long you have seen Lord Barahir and always he has been captured by another woman. At last I see the wound in your heart."

"Nay, it is not wounded. For when he was enamored of you, I knew he would be well cared for, if you felt it your duty to marry him. He would have been happy, and I would have been content. But now, I foresee his doom. Alfirin would make him miserable and he would age faster than he should. I fear for him, Silmarien. That is why I want to help you."

"If we ever find that law, I shall do what I can to turn his eye toward you. It is only fitting that you win his heart after endeavoring so long to see to his happiness."

"Do not, I beg," Elemmire said suddenly. "Perhaps he should not be happy with me, though I would be delighted. Should he cast his eye toward me, let it be through his own intent. Do not influence his choice, I pray."

The chessboard stood for many days, to remind Silmarien her purpose, and who her allies were. Those who knew of the great labor that she had taken upon herself knew immediately its significance upon seeing it and added pieces to the board, accordingly. Boromir did not offer his assistance, for he had other worries to tend to. Faramir became her other rook, and positioned himself so that he could strike at the opposing queen, but laid himself open to her attack.

"If I am lost, it will not matter much, for I will not remain in Minas Tirith," he smiled wryly. "Fight on, Mari, for I think that you shall win."

At last, when winter was whispering his approach, Silmarien found what she had been looking for. It was not exactly a law, but more of a right that could be exercised by a member of the family of either party. Excitedly, she took the parchment and hid it in her room, calling Elemmire and Faramir to her so that she could read it aloud to them.

"The right of intervention is bestowed upon the family of a man or woman who is being courted by another of the court," she read. Faramir smiled at his sister's exuberance and resisted the urge to wipe away the smudge of dust on her cheek as she continued.

"It shall be exercised should any member of the family finds the union objectionable for any reason. It must be declared before the couple announces betrothal. Objection must be brought to the king and must have valid reason and tangible proof, and shall not be misused."

Silmarien's shoulders slumped and she pounded the table on which the parchment lay. "Proof!" she cried. "Alfirin will not leave us that option, if we cannot use the proof of her reputation!"

"Take heart sister," Faramir comforted. "You have not lost. You have found the method of checkmate, but you must devise a plan to position her for the taking."

Elemmire had been looking out the window as she listened. She too had deflated upon hearing the constraints of the right. A servant entered and startled all three. "My lady, Lord Glorfindel wishes to speak with you," the servant said.

"Lord Glorfindel has returned? What luck! Send him in," Mari said. The Elf lord soon appeared and was surprised to see her already with company.

"Forgive me if I intrude," he bowed.

"No intrusion," Faramir smiled, knowing Glorfindel secretly desired to greet Silmarien in private. But he would have to wait.

"What merry gathering is this, may I ask," he replied.

"No merry gathering, but a council of quick wit," Elemmire said. Silmarien noticed with great approval that she seemed less embarrassed at what the woman once thought to be forward.

"Games of wit! May I join you, then?" Glorfindel asked, rubbing his hands.

Taking a knight and a bishop from the box of chess pieces, Silmarien held it out to him and spoke Sindarin. "_Welcome, Lord Glorfindel. Choose your title!_"

Faramir had to bite back a laugh upon seeing the stunned countenance of the Elf. He apparently had not heard that she had been tutored in his language. After he recovered, he did not reach for a piece.

"What game is this? If it be chess, you have placed your pieces all wrong."

"Call this a war council," Silmarien replied, giving him a brief tale of the events that had taken place during his absence. Upon her finishing it, Glorfindel nodded.

"I will join you," he said, taking not one piece, but both the bishop and the knight, positioning them and taking the other bishop from the box.

"Here am I," he said, pointing to the knight. "And here are the lords Elladan and Elrohir. I will tell them of their role later, for they are in audience with their sister."

"Why involve them? They have no reason to join in," Elemmire said, puzzled.

"When there is mischief to be worked, it is well to enlist those who know best how to inflict it," Glorfindel returned. "The very fact that mischief is needed is reason enough for them. Besides, whoever this rook is over here will need the shielding."

Silmarien smiled at Elemmire, for Glorfindel had pointed to her piece. The board was dominated by ivory, while the sable pieces counted only one - Alfirin's queen piece. If she wanted to win, she would need more allies. Glorfindel volunteered to spy out any courtiers she would enlist, for he would be least suspect. The battle was planned, and Silmarien sought to execute her first attack.

* * *

Review! 


	9. Stirring of the Blood

**Chapter Summary:** The bishops move in, and the knight guards the queen for a while.

**Author Notes:** The only midterm test I have is in my easiest class. Won't be too hard. And Mercury Gray helped with the writing of this chapter, so kudos to her!

**Shout Outs:**

Roisin Dubh – Uh oh. If I'm setting it up so that there's some great finale, I'm in trouble. I feel that my endings are weak, because I don't exactly know how to wrap everything up. Chaos is coming.

Dread Lady Freya – You got it!

Mercury Gray – Barahir will get wind of it, and he's going to have some confrontations.

Jousting Elf With a Saber – I wasn't grimacing. I'm just wondering what it is about me that make people want to adopt me.

* * *

During the winter months, Silmarien's elected "court" seemed dormant. Underneath the everyday activities they performed, their eyes eagerly sought out Alfirin and her own "court". Silmarien's chessboard became active as her knight and bishops positioned themselves ever closer to the sable queen. 

Alfirin made all appearances of not knowing her danger. During court feasts, she did not see the watchful eyes of the ivory knight as she spoke to her peers. She was not aware of the bishops who whispered together as their eyes gazed upon her. The rooks remained inconspicuous. The sable queen could only see the other of her rank, so focused was her hate. Until the bishops moved closer.

Elladan and Elrohir made sure they were seen. One evening, while Alfirin was on her way to the feasting hall, the twins put on the appearance that they had just awakened. Their clothes were haphazard and unkempt. Elrohir's tunic wasn't even buttoned, and Elladan's trousers were loosely tied. The twins met Alfirin in the hall, startling her.

"Ah, Lady…" Elrohir smiled upon seeing her as he blinked.

"Alfirin," she supplied, shocked at their appearance.

"Forgive us our unkempt hair," Elladan said. "We are unused to rising at so early an hour."

"My lords, it is nearly time for the evening meal," Alfirin said, trying to hide a mocking tone.

"Exactly," Elrohir returned with a roguish grin.

Elladan smiled at his brother as she suddenly took in Elrohir's bared chest, her eyes lingering on the unclothed skin. He saw her eyes widen only slightly as she caught sight of his own untied trousers. She was beginning to get flustered.

"As I said, please forgive us, lady," Elladan said, bending over low to bow. "We are meeting friends and thought it best not to be late."

"Perhaps," Alfirin began, her voice lower. Elrohir noted that her eyes still lingered over his abdomen. "Perhaps it would be best that you refresh yourselves, my lords. It would not do for your present appearance to be seen in the hall."

"You mistake us, lady - we do not dine in the castle tonight."

"Indeed, we do not dine on anything the castle might seek to serve, either," Elrohir said with a smile. "Elladan, we must be off!"

As they departed, the twins talked to each other in Sindarin about her reaction and their success, all the while keeping an eye on her through their peripheral vision. She stared after them, her lips parted, her breathing quite uneven.

"_There is a stirring in her blood_," Elladan said, laughing.

"_That doesn't surprise me_," Elrohir smirked. "_See how she watches us. I think she likes your backside!_"

Silmarien waited in her chambers, reading a book on strategy in her sitting roomwhen two disheveled elf lords wandered in, looking pleased with themselves.

"I do hope you've not been cavorting with the enemy," she smirked as Elladan hastily tied his trousers up and saluted as if she were his commander.

"Cavorting? Us? Why, whatever made you think that?"

"She does not attract me, really," Elrohir said with a smile, lacing his shirt.

"You do well at projecting a certain image, then. Well done. What happened?" she asked. "Or do I truly want to know?"

"Nothing happened, Silmarien. Of that you can be assured," Glorfindel said confidently, looking over the twins with a stern eye.

They pretended not to notice. "It may be that if her fancy is tickled by another, Barahir will be made safe," Elrohir reported.

Silmarien thought about this for a moment. "Perhaps...perhaps not. Would you be willing to test your theory?"

"With much pleasure," Elladan smirked. "Come brother; let us prepare the first test. Good evening, Lady Silmarien, Glorfindel."

"Glorfindel, what am I doing?" Mari sighed, covering her face with her hands after they had gone. "She can't be simply doing nothing. Surely she's not just waiting. Something is going to happen, and I'm not certain what it shall be."

"Silmarien, in every battle there is uncertainty. But your attack has not been launched yet. Rest, beautiful one," he said softly. "And when your battle does come we shall be here for you, meleth nin."

He sat near her, covering her hands with his, large, warm and reassuring. She looked up into his eyes, understanding that he had just declared her his love.

"I am glad you came for the winter," Silmarien said, smiling softly. "It would have been unbearably cold."

Glorfindel smirked a little. "And you needed me to keep you warm?" he asked wryly.

To give him his answer, her hand slid from his grasp, up his arm to his shoulder as she laid her head on his chest.

"You are very warm," she murmured against the high collar of his tunic. Her breath whispered past the cloth and teased his throat. He could smell the light wine she had been drinking, and the aroma in her hair taunted him. He could feel her lips smile as she let them graze his Adam's apple.

"Silmarien," he muttered. "I cannot begin to tell you how much I missed your presence while I was in Rivendell."

"Did you?" Silmarien laughed lightly. "But we do not know each other yet. How could you have missed me?"

"Time is my enemy. Whether it pass or it refuse to, I still have longing. I desired to hold you like this every night, to share you with no other, to kiss your soft lips."

Here he drew her close and covered her mouth with his in a gentle kiss. "You are very beautiful, Silmarien. I must confess now that my heart is lost to you."

Silmarien was quiet for a while as they held each other. Then she looked up at him with a shy smile. "I find myself wishing the same, my lord. To be near you constantly, to sing your praises, to take your hand in mine."

Here, Mari took his hand and covered her cheek with it after softly kissing his palm. His smile as he looked into her eyes set a thrill through her being, for it was loving and protective. His strong arms wrapped around her and held her for the longest time as they simply listened to each other's breath and the sound of their hearts beating.

"I love you, Silmarien," Glorfindel whispered into her hair, kissing her softly.

"And I you, Glorfindel," she murmured in reply.

* * *

Review, please! 


	10. Rise of the Sable Queen

**Chapter Summary:** Silmarien discovers the truth about the consequences of Glorfindel's choice to love her.

**Shout Outs:**

Mercury Gray - No, WE did good.

Sabre - You're giving me ideas, and Silmarien's liking them!

Dread Lady Freya - If you're paranoid, then you can call me paranoid too.

Roisin Dubh - Two cats with a mouse? More like two lions with a kitten. The kitten's going to bite back in a little while.

* * *

The queens did not meet for a long while, until they passed each other in the corridor one cold winter day. Silmarienfeigned a pleasant, innocent smile, and it seemed Alfirin could see the smile in her eyes for she was not suspicious.

"Greetings, Alfirin," Silmarien said. "How farest thou this day?"

"I fare well, Silmarien," she smiled back, though a little aloofly. "I have just recieved word from Barahir. He is to return in the springtime."

"It is well that he waits, for a winter ride would be most unpleasant."

The two walked with each other for a way. Silmarien's keen mind worked as her sharp eyes caught Alfirin's fidgeting. Taking a chance, Mari decided to reveal a little of her game. Alfirin had not made a move to return attack, and so Denethor's daughter made to give her a sporting chance.

"The queen's brothers have been rampant lately," she smiled. "It is a wonder that she does not rebuke them."

"Their behavior is ghastly at times, but it is impossible for her to lecture them I think for they pull such innocent faces. And perhaps she has no will to."

"What, think you that our lady Undomiel smiles upon them so?"

"I think her gaze is cast elsewhere. And why not, for her choice in husband has brought her other troubles."

"Alfirin, what meanest thou? I have great honor in keeping her majesty company and yet she has not spoken ill of her lord."

"Nay, she would not speak ill of his majesty. Rather the effects of her choice. Do you not know, Silmarien? Elves, immortal though they be, when they choose to take husband or wife of one of our race, they become like us. They cast away their privilege of immortality and wilt, becoming a mortal. It is a pity, for such a beautiful one as Lady Arwen will never again be seen. When Lord Elessar passes away, her own death will follow very soon."

Silmarien had nothing to say of this, for it had stricken the very core of her heart. She was entertaining the affections of a great lord of Elves, and yet she had not known the destructiveness of the path she was leading him down. She did not see Alfirin's wickedly triumphant smile.

"Forgive me, Silmarien, but I must leave you," she said quickly. "I have been asked to accompany Anaron as he attends the king in his court. Fare you well."

With that she hurried away to the throneroom, leaving Silmarien distraught in her thoughts and conflicted in her heart. At last she saw the attack of the sable queen. "Fare you well, Alfirin," she murmured hatefully.

Later that day, Glorfindel went to Silmarien's chambers, to see for himself the chessboard and how well their war went. He found her sitting upon a couch, hastily wiping away tears and trying to quiet her weeping.

"Silmarien, what is wrong?" he asked, going to her immediately and taking her hand.

She did not answer him, but silently removed the ring of Gondolin from her finger and offered it back to him. His eyebrows knit together and his eyes hardened as she did so.

"What is the meaning of this?" Glorfindel said, not taking the ring.

"We have declared love, Glorfindel, but I fear it has been spoken too soon," Silmarien replied, tears on the edge of her voice. "Take back the ring that you so graciously bestowed upon me, and know that you still have my love."

"I will not take back a gift that I have already given. Tell me what has happened, Silmarien!"

"Did you mean to tell me the truth after it was too late? I will not let you destroy yourself. Take back the ring, Glorfindel. I love you too much for you to become a mortal."

At last, Glorfindel understood. Someone had told her the fate of an elf who chooses a mortal spouse. Perhaps Arwen, perhaps the twins. Or perhaps someone less well-meaning. Glorfindel became angry and drew away from her even as she wept.

"Who are you to tell me who I shall and shall not give my heart to?" he aked, his voice dangerously low as he paced her sitting room. "I have lived entire ages of Men. I have seen heros rise and fall, I have seen entire kingdoms lost. And yet I am not competent enough to choose my own wife?"

"Glorfindel..."

"I will not lie to you, Duveniel, I had hoped to reveal this to you at a later time. I had hoped to wait, but not until it was too late as you say. It is true, an Elf who chooses a mortal lover to wed shall lose the gift of endless life. But do you also know that an Elf may die by the steel blade of a sword, even as a Man?"

Silmarien was sobbing by this time and trying to quiet it. It pierced Glorfindel's heart even as he raised his voice in anger, but still he continued.

"And were you also told that Elves may die of heartbreak? Tell me, Duveniel, would cast away my suit so suddenly if you knew that I would eventually die that slow and most painful death?"

"But I don't want you to die because of me," she returned through her weeping. "I do not wish to be the cause of your passing."

"Silmarien," Glorfindel said, sitting next to her and taking her face in his hands. "Know that I have already passed through fire, pain and death in the most horrendous way. I came back to Arda through the grace of Mandos upon me. I did not know why he sent me back, when my feet touched the soil of Middle Earth again. Now I know."

His soft voice had a calming effect and had quieted her weeping, though she did not look into his eyes as he wanted. He began to caress her cheeks, gently wiping away her tears with his thumbs.

"I already know what it is to die. Whether by war, by old age or by a love cast away, I would die a thousand times, if it meant I could have you. I would love you whether you would have me or no. Don't let me die without you."

Still Silmarien could not return his gaze, ashamed that she had even considered parting from him. She realized that she loved him selfishly and that she would cling to him the rest of her days, hopelessly lost if it were otherwise.

"I am a greedy, covetous woman," she murmured at last, sighing. "I will have you, Glorfindel, and I would not have any other."

"Then declare me self-indulgent as well, my dove," he smiled. "For I would not depart from you even if you sent me away. I'll not be gotten rid of so easily."

Opening her fist that clutched the gold and silver band, he took it and replaced it on her forefinger where it belonged. "There shall it stay," he commanded. "Never remove it again."

Before she could retort, he kissed her hungrily, drawing her into his arms. Seeing her weep so grievously tore at his heart and drew out the protective soldier in him. He would see her smile again, and sought to give her a reason to.

"Come," Glorfindel smiled after suckling on her delectable bottom lip. "Let us go to your father, Silmarien. I would have his permission to wed you as quick as possible."

"What, so soon, Glorfindel?" she asked, blinking in surprise.

"Yes, now!" he laughed. "For once you are my wife, you cannot escape my love or even let the thought of it enter your mind."

* * *

Alfirin stood at Anaron's side in the throneroom, watching King Elessar preside over his court. Quietly whispering, she plotted her next course.

"The Haradrim, do you know for certain that they are coming to Minas Tirith?" she asked him.

"Yes, they shall be hear after the festival of the New Year," Anaron replied quietly.

"Good," she smiled. "That shall give me enough time. I have spoken to Ailinel."

"What, Silmarien's chamber servant?"

"Yes, the foolish woman. She is a nervous thing, and I almost pity her. I have made her fear me, which is well. It is for her sake and for her lady's sake that she is afraid, for she thinks that by giving me what I want, Silmarien will be protected."

"You're a sly one, Alfirin," Anaron smiled. "Have you got it yet?"

"No, but I shall soon. I shall give it thee, and _then_ we shall go to the king."

In a corner of the throneroom stood Lord Elladan, unbeknownst to Alfirin. He slipped away without a sound, now knowing the name of the sable knight.

* * *

Duveniel - Daughter of the South (more literal, Southern Daughter) 


	11. Fall of the Ivory Queen

**Chapter Summary: **Alfirin takes away from Silmarien the one thing that makes a woman beautiful and differentiates her from a man.

**Author Notes:** SPRING BREAK! **W00t! **And this chapter was written with the help of Mercury Gray.

**Shout Outs:**

Sabre – She's going to need it for the feathers.

Dread Lady Freya – The wedding won't be for a while yet. Be patient.

Iluvien – I intentionally have short chapters so that you can read more than one in a single sitting. Glad you like my work, though!

Terreis – You haven't seen Glorfindel at his most passionate. Wait until later, my friend. But why is the rum gone?

Mercury Gray – Duilinn was thrown away because I grew to dislike it. I prefer other names for her, and she will be given a few names in Elvish. Some will stick better than others, and some will be pet names given by specific people. Just like we planned for Glorfindel, Silmarien will receive her own "special" name. The rest of the readers will just have to sit on the edge of their seats to find out what I mean.

Roisin Dubh – Kittens get hurt when they play with the big cats.

* * *

Glorfindel sought out his lady the moment he left Denethor. The father of his intended was not wholly against their marriage, but did not give his blessing on their union so soon. He instructed Glorfindel to wait until the summer, nearer the time of Faramir's own wedding before he again asked for his blessing. 

"At least I asked," he smiled, kissing Silmarien softly when he found her.

"You're a bold sort," she smiled. "Bold and fearless."

"Though we cannot marry just yet, he granted us permission to announce our betrothal, my heart."

"Oh happy news!" Silmarien practically squealed. "There will be feasts and well-wishes and gifts pouring in. You must announce it tonight at the evening meal, Glorfindel."

The elf threw back his head and laughed. "There is nothing like an engagement announcement which turns a woman's head."

"Don't think I'm silly," she pouted. "There will be gifts for you too!"

"The greatest gift I cannot have until the summer," Glorfindel smiled suggestively.

"Beware, I might have you work to earn it," Silmarien warned. The threat fell flat as her eyes glittered with the same mischievous light he had.

Winter passed pleasantly enough. It seemed that Alfirin had receded into the dark cold brought on by the season, for even the lords Elladan and Elrohir did not see much of her unless they went out of their way. Lord Anaron seemed to be no threat though it was known that he had become a sable knight. A warning rang in Silmarien's spirit that she should beware, and yet she did not heed it. Instead, she enjoyed the peace and Glorfindel's ever-loving company.

Spring was fast approaching, and Glorfindel had been putting off the return to Rivendell. At last, he could no longer make excuse as he watched the last finger of frost let go of the White City, and went to take leave of Silmarien.

"Beloved I must return to Imladris," he said. "I would be a poor husband indeed if I did not provide for my wife's needs. My dwelling place must be prepared for your living in it."

"You already know how selfish I am," Silmarien sighed. "But I cannot keep you entirely to myself. Go to Rivendell and do what you must. But I demand that you write to me often."

"Shall I write to you of the longing I have in my heart already?" he murmured as he pulled her closer. "Shall I tell you that I miss the aroma that belongs to you? Shall I tell you that I am lonely for you at night?"

"Glorfindel, what scandalous thoughts!" she gasped even as he held her tighter.

"You must learn that my love for you is hungry and improper," Glorfindel whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "If you do not, you will have too much to learn after we are wed."

Silmarien smiled into his cloak, savoring the smell of him - a mix of woody airs and a slight musky scent. "You're a sly devil, melethron," she whispered, so as not to let anyone else hear.

Kissing her quickly, he smiled. "I shall return as soon as I can, my love. Farewell."

Several weeks passed, and Silmarien's heart warned her further, but she could not see why. Looking across her battlefield, she could see no threat. But it was in a shadowed corner of the chessboard where the sable queen met her ebony knight, handing him a bundle. "Only a little blood, Anaron. You've taken virgins - you know how it looks."

Anaron nodded. "I shall return later tonight. Take up your usual habits, Alfirin."

The lady nodded, a cruel smile forming at her mouth. "And thus was the daughter of the haughty steward disgraced."

* * *

Aragorn let the cloth fall from his hands, not wanting to look at Denethor. The graying steward had his head in his hands, not weeping but very near. 

"Send for Silmarien," the king said quietly. Arwen sat at her husband's side, her face ashen. The lady was brought, confused and anxious, to the feet of her king.

"My lord, what troubles thee? Why was I sent for by such a stern messenger?" she asked, her voice quaking. Elessar pointed to the wretched stain.

"What foul trick is this?" Silmarien asked after a shocked pause.

"The laws of this country state that as a woman of the house of the Steward, you may not marry without the consent of the king," Elessar continued, his voice steady, but struggling not to shake.

"But my lord, did you not give Glorfindel and I your blessing when we announced betrothal? I do not know what this means!"

"Silmarien," Arwen said quietly. "You are accused of throwing away your virgin pride and bedding a man you were not wed to."

"Who accuses me, your majesty?"

"I do. " Alfirin stepped forward. "Who better? I have seen them, majesty, as I have told your tribunal already, cosseting in the halls of this palace, and other places besides, well beyond the bounds of decency."

Silmarien's rage reached a new level. "You cursed liar!" she spat, rushing at Alfirin. Two royal guards held her back and had a time of it as she struggled. "You lying wretch of a woman! Tell him the truth! Tell him the truth!"

"I already have, lady," Alfirin said with a sickly sweet smile.

Aragorn had to take a deep breath. "Lord Denethor, you know the law better than any man in this room. What is punishment for such a crime?"

Denethor turned his head away. "Public humiliation, my lord king, to have her hair shorn short."

Silmarien's eyes grew wide. "But I am innocent! Glorfindel has never laid hand on me with such wicked intent. This is all a lie!"

"Does this bed dressing not belong to you," Alfirin asked, feigning scrutiny.

"It is mine," Silmarien admitted. "But my future husband has never set foot in my bedchambers. We are innocent."

"Come, such a cool liar. Even when you are caught, Silmarien, I am ashamed to see you with such a wicked tongue," Anaron's voice spoke.

"Is there no one who will speak in my defense?" Silmarien pleaded.

"Your...betrothed could...but, he is away, is he not?" Alfirin said.

"It would be weeks before he could return, even with such a fleet horse as Asfaloth," Silmarien said half to herself.

"Then as there is no one here who will attest your innocence..." Alfirin turned her head aside, hiding a victorious smile.

"Your punishment will be served on the morrow," Aragorn said, his voice not as sorrowful as it had been. He had been speaking to Arwen quietly in Sindarin, and the king and queen of Gondor were resolute. "In the meantime, you will be guarded in your chambers. Prepare yourself, Silmarien."

The daughter of the steward blinked fast, holding back tears. "I will not weep," she told herself under her breath as guards escorted her back to her chambers. "I am a daughter of Gondor. I will not weep."

* * *

Only immediate family members were allowed to speak to Silmarien while she was in her comfortable prison. Denethor and his sons made good use of that privilege, and yet their speech was ungentle toward her. 

"Silmarien, what obnoxious thoughts have made you throw away your dignity?" Boromir asked, pressing her for an answer to this riddle that befuddled him. Faramir too asked her many things, and she did not answer. Denethor sat in a corner, silent and grave.

"I swear on pain of death that blood is not mine!" Silmarien sobbed, wondering what she had done to deserve this.

"Then whose was it?" Boromir snapped, at the end of his patience. Silmarien uncharacteristically snapped back.

"You, who have lived with me so long! You who saw me grow up! Even my brothers doubt me, my innocence, and my truth. Am I alone the wielder of sanity?"

"Leave her be," Denethor said, stirring out of what seemed to be a light slumber. "I weep for her fate, but I do not doubt her testimony."

Boromir looked for a rebuttal, but Faramir glared at him.

"Brother, you and I need a chat. In my rooms, if you wouldn't mind."

The two stalked out, glaring daggers at each other. A door slammed down the corridor, and then a small explosion of yelling seemed to take place, dampened by the heavy doors.

"Take heart Silmarien," Denethor said, taking her hand. "I have written a letter for your sake to Glorfindel. Lord Elladan has just left the city bearing it. And our king took me aside after the guards escorted you away. Tomorrow is the full moon. When a man shears his hair on a full moon, it grows back twice as fast."

Silmarien had to laugh. "Father, that's an old wives tale," she sniffled. Denethor smiled.

"But it gives you hope, yes?" Silmarien nodded, quickly wiping away a tear.

"There now. Let justice run its course. One day, Alfirin's secrets will be found out and she shall pay double the price you pay now," Denethor vowed.

The next day, Silmarien sat upon the horse that was to take her to a platform in the fourth circle of the city. The small procession was somber and quiet. Citizens had heard of what had passed the day before, and gossip had been spread like a plague.

Hairpins loosely bound her hair as she guided her horse behind the guards. She dared not look upon the faces of the women. Their hard gaze was unforgiving. The young girls stared up at her in sorrowful betrayal. It was as if they plead with her, "Why? You were supposed to be good of heart. How could you do this to us?"

Faramir, Boromir and Rhoswen watched from a balcony at the palace. Boromir had been shouted into silence, and his angry gaze followed his sister's course. Faramir had wept all the tears he could for her and could weep no more. Rhoswen pursed her lips. They had not done this to her. Of course, she had not been an open enemy of Alfirin.

Ascending the platform, the King turned to the people as she was brought forward.

"People of Minas Tirith," he spoke so all could hear. "It grieves me that I must attend this matter so grave. But it has come to pass that Lady Silmarien has been accused of the loss of her innocence."

Silmarien noted with quiet thankfulness that Aragorn carefully selected his wording. She would be proved innocent one day, she knew he would see to it. The chief of the Guard of the Citadel had been given the displeasure of inflicting the punishment. Val, a friend of Silmarien's from childhood stood at her side, the shears in his hand.

"Forgive me, Silmarien," he whispered as the King spoke.

"You are as innocent in this matter as I," she returned quietly. "I do not hold you at fault."

"And so the penalty is that her hair be shorn like to a man's," Elessar was saying. "Let it be done."

Val reached up and pulled the hairpins out of her hair, pursing his lips so he wouldn't tear up as the soft black mass fell down her back, almost reaching her knees. Silmarien's gaze was upon the wooden planks of the floor as she took back the hairpins, holding tightly to them. Her head lifted quickly when she heard the metal clink of the shears, and she closed her eyes as Val gathered her hair in his hand. Slowly, like feathers dancing on the wind, her ebony locks fell to the ground.

After watching her humiliation in silence the crowd began to disperse. Silmarien was escorted back to the seventh level of the city. This time, those who thought her to be guilty reviled her, jeering as she passed by.

"Clever of her lover to run just in time to escape," one filthy man said loudly.

Silmarien was sent to her chambers again, this time without a guard. For the longest time, she stood before her mirror in silence, her hated reflection staring back at her.

"And so the ivory queen fell," she murmured, drawing a veil over her head to cover her short hair.

* * *

Review! 


	12. The King, the Rook, the Knight

**Chapter Summary:** Silmarien still has friends, but Barahir discovers Silmarien's shame, and the Haradrim arrive, giving Alfirin pawns.

**Shout Outs:**

Mercury Gray - Sometimes? How about MOST of the time?

Illuvien - Silmarien's honor will be proved soon.

Roisin Dubh - The errors have been fixed. I'm sorry I didn't catch it, even though I went over it like five billion times before I posted it. Apologies in advance as the computer I'm working on for this chapter doesn't have spell check, for some God-forsaken reason. I'll do the best I can. And it wasn't a dress that Alfirin gave to Elessar, but Silmarien's bed sheets. Remember Ailinel, Silmarien's chamber servant? The wussy girl? She was threatened into giving Alfirin anything she asked for. Little did she know Silmarien would be so shamed.

Sabre - Alfirin's going to get bitch-slapped, if you'll pardon my French.

**Author's Notes:** Sorry I didn't get much up during Spring Break, guys. Crap happened, and now I've got lotsa crap to do. It'll take longer, but I'll get things up, I promise.

* * *

Silmarien was seen very little in the next few weeks. It was expected of her that she did not attend feasts and festive gathering for a period of time, so that she may do penance for her great sin. However, Silmarien withdrew not out of penance but anger. Bitterness against Alfirin festered in her proud heart and many methods of vengeance whirled like burning leaves in her mind.

Her allies did not forsake her. Lord Elrohir kept watch over Anaron and Alfirin at feasts, and kept Silmarien company as best he could. Elemmire too went to her, though she went secretly during Silmarien's supposed penance. If she were seen with Denethor's daughter too soon, it would mean more trouble for them both. But her shoulder was strong, and she bade the wrongfully shamed woman to weep upon it.

"It is like Alfirin to work a dastardly deed," Elemmire admitted as she embraced her friend.

"She will pay," Silmarien vowed sullenly. "If ever there was a time to break her, it is now."

"Let your revenge be paid. But take care that you do not become your enemy, my lady. Guard yourself!"

The time for penance passed, and Silmarien began to be seen more often in court. She held her head high, though veils she was not accustomed to wearing covered it. It became known that Ailinel had been released from Silmarien's service with much disgust, and that Denethor had asked that the servant be sent to Osgiliath, to keep the poor girl safe from his daughter's poisoned anger.

After a time, Queen Arwen sent for Silmarien and held private audience with her. The wife of Elessar began to instruct her in the methods of Elven braids to decorate her hair as best she could. Mari's hair was now too short for it to be pulled back successfully unless by a tie at the nape of her neck like a Man of Gondor. Even then, locks of hair framed her face and rested before her eyes. Undomiel braided her hair close to her head, alternating between the fashions of men and women of her race as the length of hair permitted. Silmarien quietly adopted the styles of the Elves, and it was whispered that she had finally turned her back on her own race because it betrayed her.

Elemmire braided her hair like an _elleth_ at whiles, so that Silmarien would not be the only lady of Gondor to do so. Those who did not truly hate the sister of Faramir and Boromir in their hearts also took up the trend, becoming less suspicious of the ways of the Queen and her people. Aragorn took note of this and called Silmarien to his side one day at a feast nearer the coming of the New Year.

"In a strange way, good has been done, my lady," Elessar began quietly. "Unity between Elves and Men in this court has become better."

"Must so high a price have been paid by me?" Silmarien returned.

"Let vengeance come from my hand, Silmarien. Do not take justice from whom it belongs to."

Silmarien inclined her head in respect. "I do not deny it, my lord king, I anger to the point of alienation. Alfirin's own degradation is my chief desire now."

"It will come. She has sealed her own fate, though it is not seen at this time. The Valar do not allow such treachery to go unpunished. But I say again, Silmarien, though you have right to vengeance, justice belongs to me."

"Know that I submit," she replied grudgingly. Aragorn knew that she would obey him, though her heart was not truly in it. He was glad of her loyalty, but mourned that it was only duty-driven in this matter.

During the festival of the New Year, visitors to the king arrived from the south. A small band of Haradrim had come to pay homage and seek his favor upon their divided tribes. At least three or four tribes were represented in the party, and it seemed some did not see the king as their benefactor.

Not only did the Haradrim arrive, but Lord Barahir came also. Alfirin made pretense of all possible joy as she greeted him and walked with him often in the gardens, which were blooming busily. When Barahir had been told of Silmarien's supposed deeds he was shocked into silence. Had the elf lord transformed her mind so much that she threw away all sense of decorum? She had always been a woman of good sense, grace and propriety in his eyes.

In the days that he remained in Minas Tirith, Barahir made several attempts to speak to his cousin. On most occasions Alfirin, who insisted that she be with him nearly all the time, hampered him. At last, Lord Anaron spoke with her and asked on the king's behalf that she entertain one of the Haradrim. Excusing her presence from Barahir, she went on her way while Barahir made his way to the gardens alone.

There, he sat upon a stone bench in thought. So many rumors had bombarded him about his cousin. His heart was torn. Barahir had always loved Silmarien, and yet Alfirin had given him comfort after the news of Silmarien's acceptance of Glorfindel. He could not reconcile disregarding either woman. Putting his head in his hands, he sighed a slight sob for Silmarien.

"I _do_ love you," he whispered. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Elemmire.

"Forgive me, my lord," she apologized. "I had not meant to frighten you."

"No need to forgive," he replied. "I am well."

"Silmarien sent me as a messenger to speak to you. What would you know, Lord Barahir?"

Barahir's bearing deflated slightly but it was visible.

"I would know why she did not see fit to grace me with her own presence and quiet my questioning of her."

Elemmire cast her eyes upon her slippers. He had a right to know, but it was difficult to answer. "Silmarien feels that she can no longer defend herself," the lady replied quietly. "Since the accusation before the king, she has grown very weary and heartsick over her present situation. However, I know of the truth of the matter, and I am willing to relate to you everything that you would wish."

The two walked in the gardens, speaking to each other privately for a long while. So engrossed were they in their conversation that they did not see Anaron from a window overlooking the lush gardens. He saw Elemmire's eagerness to help both Barahir and Silmarien, and his brow darkened. With the fall of the ivory queen came the exposing of the rook.

* * *

Imladris was peaceful that spring, as Elrond oversaw the ruling of the valley and the preparation of his departure. Any elves who did not yet desire to pass into the West were instructed to be lead by Glorfindel. The Noldorin Elf lord gave them direction to improve his living quarters, expanding and remodeling so that a woman might find it comfortable. The women of his race began to add softer graces to his home, creating a less bare, military atmosphere. He was pleased by this, and hoped Silmarien would find it comforting.

Lord Elladan arrived as if a storm of Sauron were on his heels. Elrond expected him to race to him with the news of rebel orcs descending from the mountains. Puzzled, he quietly followed his son's hurried steps to Glorfindel, noting that his son carried a letter which bore the seal of the Steward of Gondor.

"Read this immediately, Glorfindel," Elladan urged his former teacher. "There has been much trouble since you've gone."

Glorfindel was perturbed by his protégé's earnestness, for it was seldom seen unless in very dire need. Snatching the letter, he tore it open and read it hurriedly. Elrond, unnoticed by either of them, watched Glorfindel's furrowed brow as he began to read the letter. It progressed from confusion, to sorrow to great wrath.

"Must I elope with her to save her from such misery whenever I depart?" he asked angrily. "Why must she be punished for her loyalty?"

"Alfirin and Anaron purposely waited until you left, Glorfindel. She knows part of our game," Elladan said.

"Then they shall wish they had never been born," the Noldorin replied, his eyes flashing dangerously. Elrond had seen such anger only once, a very long time ago. He pitied whomever had raised this hate, for their end would be bloody.

Glorfindel directed renovations to continue even as he prepared Asfaloth. Elladan would follow in two days. Swiftly as the wind in a meadow, Glorfindel rode away to Minas Tirith to exterminate a mouse and rat.

* * *

I know it's short, but review anyway. 


	13. Of Dreams and Damnation

**Chapter Summary: **Alfirin discovers the opposing rook, and the ivory knight reminds his lady of his passion for her, no matter what they face.

**Author Notes:** Summer break people…YEHA!

* * *

"You saw them together?" Alfirin asked, frowning.

"Indeed I did. And dear Elemmire seemed very eager and understanding," Anaron replied, before taking another sip of his wine in her sitting room.

"How…quaint," Alfirin replied quietly after a long silence.

"What is your plan in dealing with her?"

"I won't. Elemmire is not a woman I worry over. Silmarien is a different matter. All I need do is keep Barahir's mind fixed on what he sees as my love, and she will lose."

"Thou art a cold and heartless woman," Anaron chuckled darkly, standing. "But your cunning amuses me in this woman's war. To your victory, Lady Alfirin!"

With that, Anaron toasted her as if she were already the crown princess of Dol Amroth and departed.

* * *

It had been several days since Glorfindel set out from Rivendell to return to the White City, the home of his beloved lady. The Misty Mountains still stretched southward as he rode as quickly as he dared ask of Asfaloth. The elf lord had always respect for his steed, and spoke to him of his troubles. Asfaloth offered whinnies and snorts occasionally, to signal his disappointment and sympathy.

The sun had set an hour ago, and Glorfindel dismounted, patting the white stallion's nose gently. "Forgive my demands, Asfaloth," he spoke quietly in his own tongue. "The need is great, and my heart is heavy."

Asfaloth nosed his tunic as if to bid him to rest, and went to graze and sleep. Glorfindel sat against an old, fallen tree in the ruins of the land of Eregion, the lost haven of Elves and Dwarves. He stretched out his long legs, tossed his cloak aside and untied his tunic so that it was part way open. Sighing, the Noldorin lord looked up at the night sky.

"Duveniel," he murmured, "ah, my Erbain. Would that I could hold you in my arms this night and kiss away your fears."

A thought crossed his mind, and he immediately acted upon it. Crossing his legs, Glorfindel rested his elbows on his knees and closed his eyes, clearing his mind and concentrating hard on the thing he wanted most.

_There was darkness at first, and then he found himself in a little grove in Rivendell. Rising from his lowly position, Glorfindel looked about him and pursed his lips. He did not expect to be here. He smoothed out his now silken tunic and set out to seek what he wanted. He wanted her._

_After a few moments, Glorfindel came upon a clearing. There was a bench, on which the figure of a woman sat. She seemed Elven, though he could not see her face. A veil covered her head and fell down her back. She heard him approach and turned her head only slightly._

"_Do not look at me," she said. Glorfindel knew that voice, though it was flattened greatly by the burden of much sorrow._

"_I will look at you," he replied. "You are my promised one."_

"_I am not worthy of your company. Not now."_

_She stood and made to depart, but Glorfindel was quicker. Catching her roughly by the arm, he turned her, pulled her closer to him so she could not escape in his arms. Ungently, he tore away the veil, ignoring her frightened whimpers. His frown increased when he looked upon her, and she did not meet his gaze. Her hair, those raven locks which he so desired to comb with his fingers every night were shorn above her shoulder. She shied away when she felt his hand upon her head, smoothing back the lock that had strayed._

"_Look at me," he said quietly. His temper was quickly growing hot, and was displeased even more when she did not comply. His request was made a louder, snarled demand._

_She winced and met his gaze. Glorfindel had no pity, for already she was providing that luxury for herself so much that he didn't need to offer it. Roughly, his hand clutched at her hair and held her head as he claimed her pouting mouth and ravished it. Admittedly, he nipped a little too hard than he meant, but he couldn't help himself, even if he wanted to._

_When at last he pulled away, she was breathless, confused as she licked at her very swollen lips. All she could manage to say was, "Why?"_

"_First, to remind you that I am yet madly in love with you," Glorfindel answered, as if it were common knowledge. "Second, to show you that I care not if Alfirin painted you with tar and feather, but that I shall deal with her accordingly. I have the lover's rights – to woo, to abandon, to avenge. Worry yourself not with the details."_

_Her eyes grew wide as he spoke, for his hands roamed her body as if he were her lord and husband already, settling just under her backside as if he would lift her off the ground. "Glorfindel," she murmured, trembling under his touch. "Glorfindel, come now. I beg of you to come. I desperately need you."_

"_I am coming as quickly as I can. I shall wear out my horse if I were to ride as fast as I would like," he replied, caressing her face. "I shall ride again at dawn. Until then, I shall force you to see that I am not a quiet elf lord as some may think…nor am I a tame lover."_

_Again, he took her mouth roughly, licking her teeth and palate as if he were a thirsty man with a keg of water. This time, he seemed to be drawing her out of her shy depression. Her hands slid up past his neck, into his hair, pulling him closer, deeper into her mouth. A soft moan escaped her lips, and he swallowed it, smiling roguishly._

_"Ah, now I begin to see the passion of your heart," he muttered, teasing her. "Is it only because we meet in dreams of the night? I wonder if my reception in Minas Tirith will be colder."_

_"No," she sighed breathlessly. Her eyes were darkening, and he had no doubt she would be dreaming of very wicked things until he set foot on that white stone of her city. He would make her yearn for him. Unbearable? Perhaps. He knew that at one time she had been a wild one, a lady who prayed for adventure. He read it in her eyes when he first took her hand and kissed it in the gardens of Dol Amroth. Glorfindel desired to stir her up again. How much of a wildcat could she be?_

_Glorfindel smirked as he watched her struggle with the elvish buttons of his high-collared tunic. When he laughed outright at last, she looked up almost angrily as she let her hands caress his exposed chest. _

_"I am of a mind to depart, Glorfindel," she hissed. "But then my night would be restless."_

_"I would make your night restless whether you departed or no," he replied. "But I had thought you were a woman of propriety. Is this what you dream of often?"_

_She frowned deeper. "You tease me with these things, and expect me to wait for you. What, would you have me languish and merely pine for your presence? I think not. You ignite a fire to my flesh and I shall return its blaze."_

_"That will remain to be seen, then," he smirked as she began to sear his sternum with kisses from her velvet lips. Glorfindel forced himself into silence, though his eyebrows knit together. His raven was never a woman to be left helpless, no matter how difficult her situation._

_"If I am to ache for you, then the sentiment shall be returned. Come, you cannot be as calm as you put on," she smirked back. "Surely, you covet me."_

_She pulled away and gazed upon him, waiting. He took a deep breath and composed himself. "What a wanton night it shall be after we are wed," he grinned like the wolf he was. "I do lust for you, my Silmarien. But I prefer you to be whole when I return."_

_"A little late for that, don't you think?" she snorted as he sat upon the stone bench, drawing her onto his lap. "I will only be whole when you return."_

_"Then I fear we'll both have to wait," Glorfindel sighed, drawing away the fabric of her gown from her shoulder, licking the skin of her throat and collarbone._

_"Seems you don't want to," she laughed before sighing so tauntingly. His warm breath tickled her senses, driving her to nearly begging for more._

_"But I shall," Glorfindel replied. "I think I've reminded you enough."_

Silmarien's eyes snapped open. That dream...that wonderfully erotic dream. And he just left her, forced her to wakefulness and find herself in her own bed. What a cruel lover! Grabbing her pillow, the frustrated daughter of Gondor screamed into it, pounding at her matress. Glorfindel would pay, when he returned. Oh, how dearly he would pay.

* * *

"He humiliated us," one brawney man hissed. "His people humiliated us. I do not see why we are here."

"We are here to make peace, and seek his mercy. If we show him we are willing, the King of Gondor will perhaps grant us the good things he offers to the other lands under his protection," another said.

"And accept his dominance? Never!"

"Tergon, calm yourself. The war is over, and if we do not ask for mercy, he may have a mind to destroy us all!"

"Better to die than to be made his slaves, Bahti," Tergon spat. "You were always weak. It shouldn't surprise me that you would be so quick to beg for his mercy."

With that, Tergon left his fellow Haradrim, who had been in council together to decide what terms they should ask of the man who had crushed their attack on Minas Tirith. Stomping down the corridor, he made his way outside.

"I hate this place," he snarled to himself, looking about him at the courtyard. Casting his eyes to the night sky he frowned. "Even the stars are different here."

"You have a hate for my people," a voice suddenly said. Tergon whirled about to see a Gondorian lord. He frowned, not wanting to incriminate himself.

"You do not need to fear me," the man smiled, coming closer.

"Who are you?" Tergon asked, still suspicious.

"I am Anaron," the man replied. "I have a proposition for you."

* * *

Review! 


	14. Hope At Last

**Chapter Summary:** Thick plottens…I mean…plot thickens!

**Shout Outs:**

DreadLadyFreya – Oh, their end shall be satisfying.

Mercury Gray – This coming from the blood-o-phob? I'm surprised at you, Merc!

Roisin Dubh – Glad you liked it. I hope I won't disappoint!

* * *

Silmarien was drinking a goblet of wine when Elemmire rushed into her sitting room and hastily closed the door. When she turned, Silmarien noted that her cheek was quite rosy and her eyes uncommonly bright.

"You seem very happy," Silmarien chuckled as Elemmire hugged herself absently. "Where have you been at, my rook?"

"Oh, Silmarien, he's the most wonderful man," she breathed, fairly dancing across the room to the couch her friend sat upon. "I've never had the honor of speaking with him so long. And when we parted ways, he kissed my hand so gentlemanly."

"Ah, so my ambassador has been swooning over the ivory king," Silmarien mused quietly. "And did he seem to enjoy your company?"

"Oh, I don't…I don't know. But I enjoyed his," Elemmire smiled dreamily. She snapped out of her trance when she saw the dark circles beneath her friend's eyes. "Silmarien, what is wrong? You look as though you'll faint!"

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Silmarien sighed wearily. "I didn't sleep very well last night," she admitted sheepishly.

"Was it the thunderstorm? An evil dream?"

Tilting her head to the side, Silmarien's lips curled of their own accord into a bit of a sneer. "I suppose you could say it was an evil dream," she murmured.

"Come, tell me of this nightmare," Elemmire urged, sitting on the couch, taking Mari's hand.

"No!" Silmarien snapped. "That is…I…"

Pursing her lips, Silmarien calmed herself. "Elemmire, do you remember what the Queen said about Elves being dream walkers? How they could manipulate their sleep and meditation to meet another in a vision?"

Elemmire nodded slowly.

"I…Glorfindel decided to pay me little…visits for the last week and a half," Silmarien emphasized meaningfully.

Suddenly her eyes widened, and her lips made a perfect 'o' as she blushed. "I…I see," she whispered, looking away. "How…unkind."

"Yes," Silmarien sighed, drinking more wine. "Very unkind."

* * *

Faramir stood at a work table in Osgiliath, going over plans to rebuild the city and heal its war wounds. Making notes on the margins of each scroll, Faramir kept himself busy until a servant announced the presence of Lord Nahald. The elderly man entered and bowed.

"Please, Nahald, sit. I am not a man to whom you should bow," Faramir smiled, offering the noble a seat.

"The Prince of Ithilien is too kind to this old man," Nahald smiled, accepting the chair.

"To what do I owe this visit? I had thought your noble mind would be bent to other tasks in the rebuilding of this city."

"A matter which is of grave importance, I fear. I overheard my daughter Alfirin speaking to a colleague several days ago, and it made me wonder."

The old man paused while Faramir brought a goblet of wine to his hand. "I am ashamed to say that I have betrayed my daughter's trust, however I think that her deeds are beyond my discipline."

From the folds of his cloak, Nahald pulled out a small leather-bound book, holding it out for Faramir to take. "It is now known to me that your sister is an opponent of my Alfirin. How much of an enemy I never realized. There are such confessions in this book that grieve my heart, Faramir. But I turn it over to you so that vengeance long awaited shall be paid. I wash my hands of the matter."

Faramir furrowed his brow and nearly wept as he turned the pages of Alfirin's diary. "My lord," he whispered, fighting the tendency of his voice to crack. "Silmarien has lost her honor in this enmity. She…your daughter…brought about the public humiliation of my sister."

Nahald nodded. "Alfirin has shamed me as well, Faramir. I had not known the blackness of her heart, until my self-indulgence was so far gone that there was no control. I am to blame for her selfishness, Faramir. I beg forgiveness."

Wiping his eyes, Faramir breathed a heavy sigh. "Lord Nahald, it is not from me you should ask forgiveness. The wrong was not inflicted upon my own honor. But I give it freely. If I might, would you allow me to pass this diary to Silmarien? She has been searching for written evidence against Barahir's union with Alfirin, and use the right of intervention."

"By all means, and I wish her the best of fortune. Barahir is too mighty a man to be brought low by my daughter."

* * *

Rushing about to prepare for the ride to Osgiliath, Silmarien fairly buzzed with excitement. Faramir had just sent a messenger telling her that there was something important he needed to deliver to her hands personally, concerning the right of intervention. If it was what she hoped it was, Alfirin would soon be weeping at her victory.

Making her way to the stables where her horse was being prepared for her, Silmarien smoothed out her riding dress, hiding the leggings she wore underneath. It was a habit she had developed – wearing the gown for propriety, and yet for comfort she wore leggings. She couldn't stand the sidesaddles she was nearly forced to use, and had to improvise to pacify her father's stipulations, which still held, even at her age. There were just some things she couldn't escape.

"My lady," a voice called to her as she took the reigns from a servant. Turning, Silmarien saw a man of Harad approach her with a smile. Her heart sank. She had hoped not to have any company so that she could speak to her brother privately.

"Greetings, my lord," she smiled, hiding her displeasure.

"I am Tergon," he bowed. "I wondered if I might accompany you on your ride?"

"I am bound for Osgiliath, Lord Tergon," Silmrien replied. "I enjoy the excitement of a good race. I hope you do not mind riding quickly."

"No, I wouldn't mind at all," he replied with a grin that showed his teeth. "Not at all."

* * *

I know it's short, but I'm getting to some action. Please be patient and review!


	15. Arrows in the Night

**Chapter Summary: **Evil plots are put into action in the dark of night...

**Author's Notes:** For all of you who have been waiting, this is the chapter with all the action in it! I hope you enjoy it, because I worked very hard on it!

**Shout Outs:**

Mercury Gray - Horse tripping? Is that like...cow tipping, or something?

Dread Lady Freya - Because your the DREAD lady, Freya...

Roisin Dubh - Hey, you stole my trademark threat!

JELLOGal - Take a pill and calm down, honey...

* * *

The evening was much warmer than expected for a spring night. Elemmire stood at her balcony, smiling upon the first star of the dusk, wishing upon it with her hands folded in supplication. Such hopes were now being sprung. Barahir was smiling at her more often, Silmarien had gone to Osgiliath to fetch the weapon of check-mate, and Glorfindel was soon returning. Elemmire wished her friends well, but left her most desired wish for the star to grant - the love of Barahir. 

Sighing, Elemmire returned to her vanity to finish pulling her hair back into braids for the evening meal. Smoothing out her rosy gown that Queen Arwen had bid her servants to make for her, Elemmire wondered if she would ever catch a man's eye. Even if she couldn't have Barahir, which was nearly certain, she still desired to be married happily. But, she realized, she was too quiet, too demure for her own good, it was whispered, and Elemmire knew it. No man wanted a mousy wife. Putting aside her brush, Elemmire pinched her cheeks to make them rosy, and departed to the feasting hall.

* * *

"My lord Faramir," a servant began, "your lady sister wishes to see you." 

"Let her enter, man!" Faramir said hurriedly. He was so excited for his sister, that her war was nearly at an end. The servant left, and almost immediately, Silmarien whisked herself in, nearly tearing the hood away from her head in her haste.

"Faramir, what is this thing you wish to give me?" she asked hopefully. At that moment she was embraced very heartily by her brother, who kissed her cheek and whirled her about in circles laughingly before he answered.

"The very plans of Alfirin, written so conveniently for us," he grinned. "Lord Nahald, her father gave it me."

"What luck!" Silmarien nearly squealed in excitement. "At last, written proof against her union with Barahir! I must act quickly to claim the right of intervention, for they have not yet proclaimed their betrothal. Where is it, Faramir?"

"Here, Silmarien. Take it, and good luck, for I think Alfirin will be looking for it. I know not when her father pilfered it, but until you use it, it is a dangerous item to carry."

"I will be wary, brother. I thank you for your help, though you gain nothing from it."

"I gain the satisfaction of helping my sister regain her honor," Faramir said grimly, embracing her yet again. "I love you, Silmarien. It greives me to see you so shamed."

"Worry not for me, Faramir. I have done well, even under such false accusation. My innocence shall be proven one day."

"Go then, back to the tower. I shall return in a week, but I daresay the news will come to me quicker than wild horses can run."

Tergon had made pretense of standing in awe of Osgiliath, even in her fallen state. The woman he had been ordered to follow was now retrieving the thing he had been sent to steal back. Gold was his reward, and he meant to have it. He had followed only closely enough to know where she had gone, and waited until she reemerged from behind the closed door. By the light in her eyes, he could see that she had indeed gotten the diary.

Tergon waited in the shadows, loosened his sword as she turned to make her way to her horse. Moving quickly from one dark shadow to the next, Tergon followed at a safe distance. He froze when his sword accidently linked against the stone wall of a house. He watched her pause and turn her head. Ah, so she knew the ways of espionage, Tergon smirked. Perhaps she knew the ways, but did she know how to rid herself of a follower?

For a moment, she stood still, listening. Tergon made no sound as he silently cursed her, thinking of the many ways he could capture her and the many more ways he would make her yeild up the diary. Cracking a smirk, he decided on the most pleasureable way to break her will. This woman was stubborn, he could see, but she was very well formed, and yet not as strong as the more muscular Haradrim. Even the men of her country weren't as strong, he mused.

She continued on her way, and was nearly at her horse when he made his move. There were no servants at the stables, and everyone else was sitting at their supper. Tergon leaped forward and caught her by the cloak, quickly covering her mouth with his hand.

"Give it to me," he hissed in her ear, clutching at her hand. She struggled against him and mumbled something he couldn't hear.

"The diary," he hissed again, tightening his hold. "Where is it?"

A sharp pain shot up his arm as she bit hard on his hand. Tergon clenched his teeth and growled in pain, then doubled over as her fist crushed his crotch. He still had a hold on her cape, however, but she unclasped the brooch at her throat and ran as fast as she could, screaming something in the language of her people.

Tergon righted himself, though still in pain, and tossed away the cloak she left behind, mounting his horse to give chase. Her cries were quickly alerting the soldiers stationed in Osgiliath as she raced westward, out of the city and toward Minas Tirith. As he rode, a few soldiers who had jumped away from their tables in haste held their spears against him, shouting for him to halt. They met his blade and fell.

Faramir raced to a window when he heard the cry in the night. "An enemy among us!" it said, and his heart beat faster, for he recognised the voice. From his vantage point, he saw a figure sprinting out of the city, and a rider giving chase.

"Close the gates!" he shouted from his window. "The rider shall not pass!"

But he also saw the rider strike out at a few solders who were not clad for combat, and knew that the gatekeepers wouldn't be able to impede the agressive wolf who chased his sister.

"Run, Mari," he whispered, praying speed to her feet.

* * *

Elemmire was taking a sip of wine when she felt a hand upon her shoulder. Looking up, she saw a servant smiling, offering her a message. 

"Thank you," she smiled, taking the letter and opening it beneath the table so no one could see the writing.

_My lady, I beg a private word with you. Meet me in the garden, where I wait._

_Sincerely,_

_Barahir_

Quickly folding up the parchment, Elemmire rose and excused herself. What could Barahir possibly want to tell her, and to call her away from her meal? It was odd indeed, but certainly nothing surprised her anymore.

Upon entering the gardens, Elemmire saw no one, and so she walked a little, waiting for Barahir to appear. After some moments, she looked up at the rising moon, smiling, lost in thought.

"The moon is full tonight," a voice said. Elemmire spun about to see Barahir.

"My lord," she smiled, curtsying.

"Please, Elemmire," he answered. "I am no king. Pray, do not pay such homage to me."

"If you wish," she replied softly, clasping her hands, and wondering what he had called her to the gardens to say.

Barahir stepped closer with a smile. "You have been kind to me, Elemmire," he said. "Your friendship with my cousin and your eagerness to help me understand her troubles have been of great comfort to me. I confess it troubles me that Alfirin could be so hateful, and I still cannot bring my mind to fully believe it. But your presence has been a peacful companion to me."

"I am pleased that I have been some help to you and Silmarien," Elemmire smiled, truly relived that she had been of some use, at least. "It was the least I could do for her. She has been so troubled as of late, and I think she felt inadequet to convince you."

"She sent to me a most able messenger," Barahir murmured, half to himself. Elemmire blushed unconciously and looked away. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she hoped he would not hear it.

"Elemmire," Barahir began. His tone startled her, for it was as soft as she could have wished it on that moonlit night. Her blush deepened as he came closer and took her hand. "I..."

"_Drego!_" a voice commanded just as a bowstring sang. The arrow did not hit its mark, for the owner of the voice that commanded also misdirected its aim. Barahir had only time to take Elemmire by the waist and spin about so that she was not in the line of fire. He fell against her with a pained groan as the arrow embedded itself into his left shoulder.

"Barahir," she cried as she held him, frantic thoughts rushing about her mind. A scuffle in a shadowed part of the garden only pressed more stress of urgency on her.

"Help!" she cried out, sinking to the ground under Barahir's weight. Elemmire held him by his other shoulder, and laid his head in her lap, clasping his cheek gently.

"Barahir," she murmured, on the edge of tears.

* * *

Silmarien was now on the open plain between Osgiliath and Minas Tirith, clutching the diary to her breast with one hand as she ran, testing the limits of her strength. She knew she couldn't outrun a horse, but she would make the attempt, at any rate. Soldiers would follow her pursuer. All she had to do was run. 

Looking back was a mistake. It slowed her progress, and he was already upon her. Moments later, she felt the impact of his body crushing her as he leaped off his horse. Silmarien cried out in pain and anger, struggling against him as he tried to pin her to the ground. In desperation she flung the diary away and swung her fist at his face.

Tergon growled when he felt her knuckles connecting with his nose. Catching her other fist that threatened to bruise his jaw, he pinned it above her head, glaring at her as he wrestled her bloody hand to join the other.

"You won't win," he sneered. "I am bigger than a weak maid."

"Stand down!" a few guards shouted, still some distance away as they ran toward the two.

"Even if I lose, you won't escape," Silmarien snapped back, struggling further against the man of Harad.

"You should fear for yourself," he growled, drawing his knife and raising it. "I will have that book!"

Gasping, Silmarien looked away and tried to roll the rest of her body out from underneath her attacker. The blade never descended. Tergon cried out in surprise as he was lifted off the ground by his collar and tossed toward the oncoming guards. Bewildered at the sudden action, Silmarien took that opportunity to crawl toward the diary a few feet away and stood to run again. Shreiking in her own surprise, she felt herself being lifted off the ground and placed on a sweat-glistened, white horse. Looking behind her frantically, Silmarien saw Glorfindel's grim face.

"Are you well, Duveniel," he asked, his voice hard and edgy.

"Oh, Glorfindel, am I glad to see you," Silmarien replied, bursting into tears and burying her face in his chest. His arms wrapped around her comfortingly and he kissed her hair. He had returned at last, just in time.

* * *

Elvish: 

_Drego - _flee!

_Duveniel - _Daughter of the South (more literal, South Daughter)

Review!


	16. Checkmate

**Chapter Summary:** Silmarien begs justice to be delivered, and Elemmire learns boldness through righteous indignation.

**Author's Notes: **This chapter was written with the help of Mercury Gray. Thanks, Merc! And sorry for the long time between updates!

**Shout Outs:**

Dread Lady Freya - When you're being attacked, the first thing that comes to mind is running as fast as possible. Only, Mari decided to run as fast as possible to the king so she could claim the right of intervention. The sooner she used that diary, the more useless it would have been for Tergon to steal it back.

Mercury Gray - (falls to the floor in a tangled heap) Ow...

Roisin Dubh - Hell indeed...

* * *

Arwen had just left the feasting hall after the meal had ended. There had not been a large celebration, and so many of the courtiers had not appeared. The queen wondered why Elemmire had left so suddenly during the meal. Just as she reached her bedchamber, an alarm had spread. There was an elvish cry in the garden, and another of Gondorian accent. Rushing to a window, she saw her brother Elrohir struggling with a darkly clad figure, and Lady Elemmire crying out, sinking to the ground. 

Several soldiers ran to the garden, and arrested the dark figure who had made the attack, confiscating his bow. The man merely grunted, and kept his face in the shadow of his hood, which was pulled up. Others made a makeshift stretcher with their swords and spears and laid Lord Barahir atop it after breaking off the arrow. The lord of Dol Amroth had swooned from the loss of blood and did not respond when his name was called.

Lady Elemmire was shaking with tears, her gown stained with his blood. Queen Undomiel briskly went to her side and held her in a protective embrace. Softly and yet firmly, she pressed Elemmire's head against her shoulder, cradling it in her arms.

"Look, the fletching of this arrow is Gondorian," the captain of the guard said. "This evidence is troubling to me. Let us bring the intruder before the King."

And so Lord Barahir was carried to the Houses of Healing, and Elemmire escorted by her lady the queen to the Hall of the King, where Barahir's attacker would be tried. Elessar was already walking toward them from a small side door when they entered.

"What do you bring before me, Guard of the Citadel?" he asked grimly, for he had heard the cries in the night from his study and was perturbed.

"My lord, I fear there is a traitor among us," the captain answered, bowing. He held up his hand and offered his king the broken arrow shaft he had kept.

"What has happened? Tell me every detail, so that my judgement shall not be misguided."

"Lord king," Elrohir spoke, having followed the procession quietly. "For many days I have suspected a member of your court to harbor a greivance against Lady Elemmire. I did not know when or how he would attack, and yet I took the liberty of keeping watch over him. My lord, the disturbance tonight was an attempt to murder this lady."

"Who is this traitor," Aragorn frowned, clasping the arrow in his hands behind his back. "Show your face."

The hood was torn off and the frowning countenance of Lord Anaron was revealed, twisted into a grimace of darkened hate.

Elemmire had calmed herself somewhat, but was still shaken from the attack. When she saw whom it was who had drawn the arrow, her breath left her. "You," she whispered shakily. "You've killed Barahir!"

Anaron turned his head sharply toward her. "The arrow was not meant for Barahir," he spat. "The elf interfered and your fool prince got in the way."

"I moved as quick as fortune allowed me, Lord Elessar," Elrohir said. "It is to my immense greif that I could not prevent it sooner."

"Ah, to my credit that I hid so well from even an Elf," Anaron sneered, moving toward the queen's brother, but being held back by the guards.

"Speak no more Anaron, for you only further incriminate yourself," Aragorn demanded. "Your intent to murder this good lady was, very thankfully, ruined. However, you have gravely injured a man who not only is a good friend of mine, but who is a ruler of Dol Amroth in my stead. This is treason against your country, Anaron. I do not take this lightly. But so that I may understand better, what quarrel have you with such a reasonable and good-hearted woman?"

Anaron seemed to pause in thought, his eyes darting about. After a few moment's hesitation, he spoke. "In obedience to the wishes of another," he replied.

"Who is this other," Aragorn asked warily.

"That I shall not say, even to you."

"Speak it, Anaron," Elemmire suddenly hissed. She had slowly made her way toward Anaron's side, glaring at him in quietly building anger. Her unexpected proximity to him startled him only momentarily.

"Speak her name," Elemmire goaded.

"Whose name?" Anaron blinked in false confusion. "I know not who you mean."

Elemmire secretly exhulted in the fact that she had been such a threat to Alfirin's little plan that the woman asked that her life be put to an end. Yet, she wished that she had taken the arrow instead, so that Barahir might be safe. With an unexpected flash of rage and a daring quickness, her hand connected with Anaron's cheek, leaving a deep red mark that would last for more than a mere few seconds. Arwen pulled her away with a purposely belated promptness. Aragorn's hidden smirk was erased when there was an outburst on the other side of the door to the King's Hall. Guards shouted, and a feminine command and angry cry was mingled with Elvish curses spoken by a familiar masculine growl.

The King of Gondor directed the guards who stood at the inner side of the door to open it and admit whomever was causing the disturbance. Immediately Silmarien and Glorfindel fairly stumbled across the threshold in their haste to approach him.

"For what purpose do you accost my guards, friends?" Aragorn asked. "Here am I, judging a traitor. Surely, your audience could wait?"

"Nay Elessar, it cannot wait!" Glorfindel urged, his long, quick stride forcing Silmarien to take at least three smaller steps to keep up with him. Estel looked at the daughter of Denethor as his eyebrows knit together. Her cloak was missing, her hair mussed, some of the elven braids undone. Her riding dress was wrinkled badly, and dirt and grass stains smeared much of her garments and at the very least half of her face.

"Another traitor I bring to you, and beg justice," Silmarien said quickly, gasping for breath. She had been running ever since Glorfindel had lowered her from Asfaloth. Just then, the heavily guarded Tergon was escorted into the hall. Anaron visibly rolled his eyes when Tergon glared at him.

"Fool," he muttered.

"A cheiftain of Harad," Aragorn asked, surprised. "How much further will this madness be spread? What has happened, Silmarien, that you also beg justice of me?"

With many growls from Tergon and Anaron to interrupt her, Silmarien launched into the tale of her doings, making it as quick a narration as she could, from the open declaration of emnity between herself and Alfirin to her false accusation, to her terrifying journey back to the Citadel. Glorfindel added what little information he could, and though Aragorn had whether been told before, or had suspected anything, he appreciated the formality and honestness of the two.

"And here, my lord," Silmarien said at last, offering the diary to Elessar. "Here at last is my proof against even the betrothal of Alfirin and Barahir."

Aragorn took the book and leafed through it quickly, his countenance grim and angry as he read a page that had been earmarked by Faramir for his sister. "A third traitor have we," he sighed. "Send for Lady Alfirin, and Bahti, so that he may know his companion's betrayal."

Bahti came about the same time as Alfirin was escorted in by three guards. Her face was stony and hid much of her anger and fear. Silmarien couldn't help but smile wickedly, for the lady's situation was mirroring her own only a few months ago. Glorfindel quietly took her hand and laced his fingers with hers, squeezing gently as she drew nearer to him.

Alfirin's face paled only slightly as she saw the book in her monarch's hands and her body became tense and rigid as the charges were made known to her. At Anaron's attempt on Elemmire's life, she objected.

"My lord, I beg this charge be not laid on me. I did not ask, nay did not mention anything of the sort to Anaron. His actions tonight were not asked of by me."

"Nevertheless, it was for you that he performed such a deed. Your greivances against me and the daughter of my friend the Steward are great indeed Alfirin. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty, my lord," she answered. Elessar's face grew dark as he fought his rage against the bold lie. Turning instead to Bahti, he addressed his mind to dealing with an ambassador who seemed to forget his mission.

"My lord, even among our tribes in our land, Tergon has been one to stir up the most dissention. None of us love him, and yet we were not completely prepared for his betrayal of us and our desire for peace with you. I speak for all the other chieftains, both here and in Harad, when I say that I wash my hands of him, and turn him over to you, our leige-lord for justice."

Elessar remained in silence for some time, and it seemed too much for Alfirin. Even as snake-like as she was, she did not take to being caught in her own webs of deciet very well. The woman eyed Silmarien with a hateful glitter in her eyes.

"Anaron, you have been proven guilty of treason, as has Tergon of Harad. Both of you shall be executed in two days. I would suggest you prepare yourselves," Aragorn said at last, and the two were taken to the prison to be held until their execution.

"Alfirin," he began, "it greives me that one so beautiful as you could have such a dark and wicked heart. Had you been content with your rank and position, this would not have come to pass. Indeed, perhaps you would have been rewarded. But now I see that your heart does not make allies of truth and goodness."

"My lord, I beg mercy," she interrupted.

"The same mercy that Silmarien begged, you mean," he replied softly, his face hard, his eyes cold. "The same mercy you did not deem her fit to have?"

Alfirin visibly paled at that, and trembled slightly. What would he do?

"For your black heart, I reward an alliance, but not what you had desired. And for the sake of Silmarien's dignity, I give to you the judgement which I had falsely given her. Your hair will be shorn short, aye, shorter than even hers, for you have lost your honor fully in my eyes. If Lord Bahti permits it, I give you to him, to return to Harad and give her in marriage to a chieftain or lords' son."

Bahti bowed respectfully. "She shall be well cared for, my lord. I confess that our homes are not as comfortable as she is used, but perhaps the circumstances will teach her grace. And some of our cheiftains are more patient than even I."

Alfirin was now glaring with a wicked gaze at Silmarien, who seemed unaffected by it.

"Checkmate," Silmarien murmured, though in the great hall, it was magnified on the echoing walls.

Alfirin shrieked terribly and rushed at her with arms outstretched. Glorfindel stood in front of Silmarien and raised his arm, backhanding Alfirin so hard she fell to the floor. Elrohir hid his glee at such a stroke very well.

"Enough!" Elessar cried, who had had his fill of anger that night. "Guards, take Alfirin to her bedchamber, there shall she be held until her judgement be passed on the morrow. Everyone, to your own rest, for it grows late. Leave me now."

And so Elemmire, Glorfindel, Silmarien, Elrohir and the guards departed, leaving the King and Queen of Gondor to gather their senses alone.

Elemmire and Elrohir disappeared, and Glorfindel escorted his lady to her chambers, where she did her best to make herself presentable.

"Forgive me that I did not greet you properly when you came, Glorfindel," she smiled wearily. "But I truly was glad to see you."

"Nonsense," he replied. "The greeting I recieved was one to my satisfaction, though I disliked the situation of my lady when I arrived."

Glorfindel was sitting at a chair while Silmarien was moving about behind him in her inner chamber. Having changed out of her dirty riding dress, and washed the grim from her face, she returned to her outer chambers.

"It's been such a terrible time since you left," she said. "I thought you'd never..come..."

Glorfindel's golden eyebrows knit together and he turned just in time to see Silmarien sinking to the floor, her hand to her head. With a cry, he leaped out of his chair, knocking it over as he caught her and swiftly carried her to her bed, laying her on it gently. The exertion, stress and many sleepless nights she endured in the last few days had finally taken its toll. Glorfindel frowned and smoothed out her hair, pulling the bedsheets over her frame before going to her outer chambers and settling on the wooden couch. He would guard her all night long, and keep watch to make sure she slept well - this time he would not interfere.

* * *

Review! 


	17. Guardian Angel

**Summary:** Barahir discovers the truth.

**Shout Outs:**

Roisin Dubh - More chapters? But of course!

DreadLadyFreya - A wedding? No, not yet. We still have a problem...

Mercury Gray - The only reason I had spelling errors was because the computer I was using for that chapter (and this chapter) doesn't have a spell check. For some God-forsaken reason, it doesn't have spell-check at all.

Terreis - Yay! I finally got the review! I'm so pleased that you like my writing! Thank you so much for your flattering remarks!

* * *

Silmarien awoke the next day to the sound of a tray of breakfast being set on the small table near her bed. Bleary-eyed and yet refreshed, she brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and sat up, only to have the offending lock fall back in her face. 

"What happened?" she asked, her voice quiet and cracked from sleep.

"I beg your pardon, my lady?" the maid servant asked.

"What happened? One moment I'm speaking to Glorfindel and the next..."

"Oh, that. Lord Glorfindel has a message for you he bid me give as soon as you awoke," the maid servant said, pulling a folded parchment out of the sash she wore.

Silmarien snatched it away, now fully awake. Tearing it open Silmarien sat with her slender legs over the edge of the bed as the servant discreetly departed.

_My Beloved Duveniel,_

_It is known to me that your quest for Barahir was trying to your nerves, not to mention the greivous charges laid against you by Alfirin. It alarmed me, however, that your strength was so drained that you fainted the very night I returned. It is therefore in your best interest that I placed you upon your bed to sleep in peace. Alone._

_When you awaken, I shall expect you to be well rested and quite happy. Unfortunately, I will not have the pleasure of accompanying you to the garden. This morning, I discovered some news that did not strike me as favorable, and so I fear I shall be attending to it the rest of the day. I shall see you at evening meal, I hope._

_Sincerely,_

_Glorfindel

* * *

_

_Barahir walked in a garden, escorting his aunt through the exotic landscape he had never before seen. She was dressed in a lovely white gown, girded by a silver belt. She was happy to see her nephew, and yet there was a sedateness about her that did not sit well with him. _

_"Barahir, I am glad to be with you," she said. "But there are things which we must speak of."_

_"What troubles you, aunt?" he asked quietly._

_"That you have come to this place through violence. The war is over, is it not?" Finduilas replied._

_"Yes, it is over. But there is still dissention within courts. Aunt...do you...do you know of..."_

_"Alfirin and her hate against my daughter? Yes, I've seen it. I have plead with Silmarien not to be bitter. I do not think she listens."_

_"Then it is true, that Mari did not..."_

_"Barahir," Finduilas again interrupted. "Silmarien is in desperate love with the elf lord. But she is not so desperate that she would throw away what I had hoped she would guard until her wedding. My daughter is no wanton woman."_

_Barahir fell silent and continued to walk. Finduilas was also quiet, and decided to let her brother's son continue, for she knew there were many questions he needed to ask, and that she had a duty to answer._

_"Aunt," he began again, "who would be such an enemy of Elemmire that they would attempt to murder her? Why was she attacked?"_

_Finduilas did not answer for a time, and Barahir thought it was becuase she was told not to. But Finduilas knew there were things that Barahir must discover for himself, and formulated her answer accordingly._

_"Elemmire was a friend to my daughter, so much that in Silmarien's time of great need, she willingly offered her aid. Elemmire's assistance presented a threat to Alfirin. And so...she was attacked."_

_Barahir's heart broke, for he now saw himself the worst fool ever to walk the earth. "I am not blessed by the wisdom of Numenor, aunt," he mourned. _

_"Barahir," Finduilas said softly. "You are blessed. You are blessed to have a woman who loves you, who would do anything to see you happy. Your wounded heart was merely turned from prudence by one who would have it."_

_The son of Imrahil closed his eyes and fought his hurt and anger. "She does not love me, Aunt," he said, trying to control the tears that stung at his eyes. "I tried to win her. She does not love me."_

_"It is not of my daughter that I speak," the late princess of Dol Amroth said. Barahir suddenly turned toward her, pausing their walk. "But my daughter does care for you, Barahir. And yet it is not born of the love that you desire from her. If she did not care for you, she would not have made such an effort to protect you from Alfirin._

_"There is one whom you have spoken to on many occasions, who loves you greatly, and it is born of the affection which you desired from my daughter. She loves you with a tenderness, and yet with a fire that helped her become stronger, bolder. It has helped her become the wife you would need."_

_"Who, aunt? Who do you speak of?"_

_But Finduilas merely smiled and lead him to a wooden door in the stone wall of the garden. Before it, she took his hand and kissed his cheek. "You are too young to enter these halls where I reside, Barahir. My host asked me to speak with you for a time, and then bid you farewell. The time has come for you to go back."_

_"But what is there left for me?"_

_"A treasure, Barahir, one that will be worth to you far more than Silmarien could ever hope to be. Go back, son of my brother, and claim it."_

Barahir then awoke to find that he was abed, in the Houses of Healing. His left arm was terribly stiff, and he felt tired and weak. Opening his eyes, he looked about him. The room was empty, save for a guest who was kneeling at his bedside, holding his right hand. The soft curls of a woman's head were unkempt. Turning his head just a little more, he saw the tear stained face, the pale complexion, the weary countenance. She was holding his hand in both of her own, her velvet soft lips pressed against the back of his hand. Barahir smiled a little, for it seemed she had fallen asleep during the kiss. The angel who had guarded him all night. Elemmire.

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Filler chapters are short, but review anyway! 


	18. Simply Glorfindel

**Summary:** Wedding preparations and a bit of revenge...backfires.

**Author's Notes:** This chapter was written with the help of Mercury Gray. Thanks, Merc!

**Shout Outs: **

Dread Lady Freya - There's ONE MORE problem...

Roisin Dubh - I think he took the hint...

Mercury Gray - YOU'RE BACK!

* * *

The Rohirrim dismounted their horses and hailed the King of Gondor with a great many cheers. King Eomer escorted his sister Eowyn into the Halls of the King, where she promptly left his side and raced toward Faramir and embraced him, as if to spite all the finery they both wore. She had returned to Minas Tirith at last, where her heart had been for the last several months. Aragorn and Eomer laughed and left the two to greet each other privately. 

Days had passed since the arrival of the Rohirric bride, and Glorfindel peered down the corridor. For as long as he had been in Minas Tirith, Silmarien had avoided him whenever possible, using her brother's upcoming nupitals as an excuse. What could possibly be wrong between them?

At that moment, Eowyn and Silmarien turned the corner, coming toward him. They were laughing as only very happy women can. Glorfindel took note of the rosiness of his lady's cheek, the excited sparkle in her eyes. It disappeared as soon as she caught sight of him. While Eowyn's greeting was cheery, his beloved was quiet and distant, it seemed.

"Lord Glorfindel," Eowyn smiled, as soon as they were close enough for comfortable conversation.

"Lady Eowyn," he bowed, smiling. Silently with his eyes, he plead with Silmarien. What was the trouble?

"I hope I have not stolen Silmarien too much of late," the blonde shieldmaid said with a smile. "Mari, I need you no more today. spend some time with your own fiancee."

Silmarien stiffened only a little, but Glorfindel sensed her discomfort, and took it to his hurt heart.

"Eowyn, it would perhaps be best that you retire as early as possible. It would be a shame if you were not able to sleep well," Silmarien urged her sister in law, emphasising the last few words. "Goodnight."

Glorfindel pursed his lips, finally understanding. A mischevious light leaped into his eyes as Eowyn bid them goodnight and entered her chambers, closing her door. Then he turned nonchalantly to Silmarien, a small smile on his lips.

"Has my lady not been sleeping well?"

Silmarien glared at him a while before turning on her heel and heading down the corridor. Glorfindel did not leave her side, a devilish grin growing as he taunted her. "Perhaps bad dreams have been plaguing you," he said. "Come, tell me of them."

"They are dreams which assault the character of those I love and thought I knew, and disquiet me," she answered, picking up her pace. "They take me places I do not wish to go."

"So they are nightmares?" Glorfindel asked, his long legs briskly keeping pace with her.

"Not...nightmares," she admitted grudgingly. "But rather, very unsettling dreams."

"In what way?"

Silmarien did not answer.

"Are you certain they are places you would rather not explore," he purred in her ear. "Surely one day you must."

"It is not I who ventures to these places, but one whom I love with all my heart. It leaves me ill at ease to remain in their company."

Glorfindel cut in front of her quickly, forcing her to halt. Then he backed her against the stone wall of the corridor, much like he had in the garden nearly a year ago. Silmarien's breath quickened, and her eyes shone clearly with fear of her beloved elf lord.

"Why ill at ease?" he whispered in her hair. "Surely this loved one would never harm you."

His hands were at her waist, and his nose lightly caressed the slender curve of her eyebrow.

"You must learn to trust those you love, Silmarien," he continued. "These dreams shall perhaps come to pass in your life. If you do not trust, then you shall not recieve all the good things which are your due."

"But these things come with patience, and I fear this person has forgotten his restraint, making me the object of my own scorn," Silmarien sighed, rigid in his arms, and yet so longing his touch. Her voice trembled. How warm he was, and how much did she want to stay this near to him. How wrong it was, what she wanted even before her wedding night.

Glorfindel paused, his breath hot upon her cheek. He frowned, knowing that the limits of engaged couples in her city were different than his. But if she was to become part of him and his culture, she would have to learn the ways of his people very quickly. A plan formed in his mind, and he pulled away from her, implementing it immediately.

"Then he shall trouble you no more," he said, feigning sudden sobriety. And with that, Glorfindel whisked away from her, leaving his heart in the corridor.

_"She will run to me,"_ he thought to himself. He would drive her to him, and he would merely be himself.

Days went by, days which sped the coming of Faramir's wedding to Lady Eowyn. Silmarien was a great help to the nervous bride, and did what she could to be of use. And yet, when Mari had the fortune to pass her lover in the halls, he was as if made from ice or stone. An unfeeling, distant being, far loftier than the petty mortals he was forced to associate with on a daily basis. Silmarien found herself pining once more for the passionate, wonderful Elf lord who loved her far more than words could tell.

From a lonely distance, Silmarien watched and waited for the ice to melt, bitterly reminding herself that this is what she had asked of him. And then she began to see things that only made her yearn that much more for him.

The way he twisted his ring on his finger when he was impatient. The way his eyes flared with a dangerous light when he was angry. The soft curl that somehow escaped the ribbin when his hair was tied back in a queue. Even the way he rubbed his bottom lip when he was deep in thought. Oh, how she wished she could let her finger dance over the soft skin on his lips!

Gradually, Silmarien's sleep became worse. She dreamed of all those places she desperately wanted to touch on her beloved's body, make him smile, say her name in an irresistable moan. How she chided herself for thinking such things!

At evening meals in the feasting hall, when she thought he wasn't looking, Silmarien would gaze wistfully at him, catch herself and blush. Imagining things she shouldn't. Wishing for things not yet hers.

On one such occasion, Glorfindel suddenly looked up from his plate just in time to see her drop her gaze to her own. He smiled to himself. His plan was working.

At last, Faramir's wedding came, and passed beautifully. Eowyn made a beautiful bride, enough to rival even Queen Arwen. Faramir was regal as the lords of old. Denethor was proud of his son, and told him so at the wedding feast, as he presented his son the Sword of Stewards as a gift. Boromir and Rhoswen presented the newlyweds a tapestry to decorate their new home in Ithilien. Silmarien offered Eowyn a beautiful riding cape, and the colt of her very own palfrey.

Dancing was called for after the meal and general revelry ensued. Wine flowed freely and gossip abounded as couples whirled about the dancefloor. Barahir had recovered well enough to attend, and was bold enough to ask a blushing Elemmire to dance.

Glorfindel stood to the side and did not engage in the lively Gondorian dance. Instead, he peered about him and saw that Silmarien was looking about the room. He had stood near during the ceremony, but not near enough for either of their liking. Bidding the long-winded courtier to his left goodnight, Glorfindel departed, his cream-colored wedding finery billowing behind him.

Mari finally saw him, her fiancee who was all of storming out of the feasting hall. An intense longing for him settled upon her. No one would see, if they met in the darkened hallway for only a small kiss. Decidedly, she made her way after him, fairly running to catch up to him.

"Glorfindel," she called. He did not hear her, and so she called again, this time with pleading in her voice. "Lord Glorfindel!"

Glorfindel stopped and turned, having heard her footsteps on the stone before she even opened her mouth to call his name. Playing hard to get was trying his patience much too thin, and had made him hungry for her. He was glad she had at last come to her senses again, so that he could steal them away. He would make her ask for it first, however.

"My lady," he answered calmly. "Should you not be at the feast?"

"I..." she began a little nervously, once she was at his side. "Why did you depart? Do my people bore you, even in their merriment?"

"Only a little, madam. It is their customs that try my patience. Even in their merriment, they do not allow a happy couple to express how they truly feel for each other. The traditions are a little too stringent for my liking," Glorfindel answered dryly.

Silmarien's eyes fell to her slippers, and Glorfindel knew he had made his point. He fought the urge to lift her head to look at him.

"I wished you would have come to speak to me tonight," she whispered. "You have been cold as of late, and I had...I had hoped you would not be so cold on our wedding night."

"What do you desire of me, Silmarien?" Glorfindel asked, barely mastering his voice. "You say that you do not wish me to lead you places, and then ask me not to be cold. What is it that you desire of me?"

"Simply a...a kiss. A goodnight kiss," Silmarien said. "It..is not so much..."

"Is that all," he smirked, a golden eyebrow rising. Mari felt it was taunting her, daring her to want more.

"I wish for other things I cannot have," she confessed, her gaze falling to the floor again.

"Anything you wish of me is yours."

When she looked up again, he was so much closer to her. Her breath left her, as he came even nearer. His arms encircled her, holding her tightly. "A kiss," he whispered. "Nothing more?"

"That would be treacherous to my father, to ask for more than my right to have at this time," Mari said, her voice and eyes clearly wishing to have everything his body could give her. His lips were so close to hers. Silmarien fought for coherent thought as her gaze focused on the delicious skin that hovered so near.

"I would not have you be a traitor, Duveniel," he answered softly, his breath caressing her own lips. His own voice and eyes were clearly replying that he would gladly give her everything she asked for and more.

After a pause, Silmarien kissed him quietly, quickly pulling away after she had stolen that treasured moment. But Glorfindel did not release her. He had not been satisfied by that too-quick kiss, and sought to make it longer. Her kiss had not been adventurous enough for him.

With an urgency that she had not witnessed of him in even the dreams she had, he kissed her, long and hard. His tonge explored her mouth wickedly, and his teeth nipped at her lips almost vengefully. Everything she longed for came pouring out, and Silmarien clung to him for dear life. Her forefinger found that lock of hair that always escaped, and twirled it about her finger. Her entire body became inflamed with the one desire to love and be loved.

At last he pulled away, leaving her to lick her swollen lips breathlessly. His own eyes were darker, but he had satisfied that impassioned thirst for the wine he would have to wait for until his wedding night.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice still husky from the kiss.

"And I love you more than words can tell," Silmarien replied, becoming desperate. "Don't leave me again."

"But I must," Glorfindel smiled, a little calmer. "If I do not, your brothers will chase me with swords drawn and battle cries upon their lips."

"But you can run faster than their lazy feet can come," Silmarien playfully reminded him, as she embraced him longingly, weeping. "I so wished for you to speak, to call my name, that I could run to you. But you were silent, all for my stupid pride."

"My Duveniel," he whispered, smoothing her hair. "You are too great a treasure for me to use wrongly. Fear not, I shall not leave you. But know that our own wedding draws near, and then even if you wished me to depart, I would not."

Silmarien had calmed herself, and smiled wickedly at a sudden idea. Rising on the balls of her feet a little, she whispered something in his ear. Glorfindel chuckled and nodded, holding her close and kissing her forehead before looking to and fro in the corridor. "Your brothers may find us here," he whispered. "Go to sleep, and find rest, my Duveniel."

And with secret glances, the lovers departed, only to meet again later in the night in a fair garden in Rivendell.

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_OWOW!_ Review! 


	19. The Wedding

**Author Notes: **Sorry it took so long. I hope it was worth the wait, my friends! This chapter was finished with the help of Mercury Gray. Thanks, babe!

**Chapter Summary: **The wedding…FINALLY!

**Shout Outs:**

**Mercury Gray – **Glad you helped me out so much with this fic. I love it that you and I think so much alike that we can do that.

**Dread Lady Freya – **Roflol. You haven't seen NOTHING yet, love.

**Roisin Dubh – **Well…here it is!

* * *

Silmarien stood in the small ante-chamber, trying to remember to breathe. At last, the day had come. At last, the summer season had arrived, and Denethor smiled upon Glorfindel's exuberance as the wedding preparations went underway. It was to be a ceremony in the fashion of his people, for Silmarien would become one of them. 

Silmarien smiled and smoothed out her silken gown. King Elessar had declared her innocent in the previous accusations and instructed her servants to make her gown white as snow. Denethor was greatly pleased, for the last of his children would be well cared for in a good match. He'd watched Glorfindel beadily these last months, with a father's exacting eye, trying to find some small error to convince his daughter that perhaps this was not the right man for her. But her heart was set. Denethor smiled sadly - did she know of the elves and their lifespans? Of course she did. His daughter would not forget a thing like that. It pained him to think of a day when she might die, but, then...

_At least she will die happy, as I will. My children are married, and their children remind me I am old,_ Denthor thought with a small smile.

He took her hands in his and kissed them, then kissed her cheek before drawing the veil over her face. Denethor blinked back tears as he looked upon his daughter, now a bride to be given away.

"Come," he said at last, holding out his hand, palm down for her, "it is time."

Silmarien gave a slight nod of the head, softly placing her hand upon his. And so, Denethor escorted her outdoors through a small corridor, unaided by a cane, though he still had a slight ache in his knees. He had vowed he would not use the now hated thing at his child's wedding.

Glorfindel stood on the stone stair, where Aragorn had been crowned king. Lord Elessar stood at the doorway into the King's Hall, a few steps above him. Though the ceremony would be mostly Elven, the tradition of the king marrying the couple would be kept, in honor of Silmarien's people.

Glorfindel waited patiently for the presentation of his long-awaited bride. The assembly who had gathered was large, but he recognised several faces nearest him. There was Lady Lothiriel, near the banner of Dol Amroth. She had grown very beautiful indeed. Boromir stood nearby with his lady wife, Rhoswen, as well. Lord Faramir had returned from the preparations of a fort in Ithilien, and was smiling in whispered conversation with his wife, Eowyn. There was King Eomer, who stood across the aisle from the banners of Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth. Glorfindel took note that he was gazing in the direction of the Dol Amroth banner with an absent-minded, foolish grin that the Elf lord recognised.

Smoothing out the silvery wedding attire he wore, Glorfindel softly sighed, and then immediately heard Elessar's friendly chuckle. "If you think one year is a long time to wait, try waiting for sixty-eight years, my friend."

Had there been time to reply to such a remark, Glorfindel surely would have made a comment. But at that moment, he saw the woman to whom his heart had been given, approaching upon the arm of her father. Even through the white veil covering her head, he could see that she was nervous, perhaps frightened. His heart softened, and he wished he could go to her to comfort her. Then he realized that very soon, that would be his right, his duty toward her as her husband.

Glorfindel descended the stairs to greet his father-in-law with a bow, and receive the precious gift he was giving away. As he bowed, the King spoke.

"Lord Denethor, do you give unto him, Lord Glorfindel, thy daughter to be bound to him forever in marriage?"

"Aye," Denethor replied, loud enough for all to hear, as he offered Silmarien's hand to Glorfindel.

Silmarien was so nervous, the ceremony passed in a blur of words. The only moment she remembered clearly was when Elessar commanded that Glorfindel hold out his hands, and that Silmarien place her hands palm up in his, and pledge the oaths of marriage. Silmarien would always remember the weight that came upon her then, as she took a breath.

"I declare you my lord and husband, whom I shall follow forever. What you command, I shall obey. Where you travel, so shall I. Where you live, I shall live. Nor shall I depart from you, or follow after another. This I swear until the ending of the earth, or death take me."

Glorfindel smiled at her comfortingly before he made his own vows. "I declare you my lady and wife, whom I shall guide forever. Whenthou hastpain, so shall I have pain. Where you live, I shall live. Nor shall I depart from you, or follow after another. This is my promise, until the ending of the earth or the sundering of the seas, or the death of my body."

Their eyes met, and each of them understood the vows, and the great possibility that Silmarien would be the one to lay down to rest in death's arms before her husband could follow. Mari looked down at her hands, which rested palms up in Glorfindel's. They seemed so small compared to his, so much more inexperienced in work than he. And she wondered if she could be the wife he would need. Would she grow, and learn to shoulder the burdens he carried?

But his hands took hold of hers, and it was not a fear she felt, but a great love. "I shall help you," he seemed to say, "We are here to help each other. You will help me where I am weak, and I will help you where I am strong." And Silmarien could not help the tear that ran down her cheek to land in her palm.

Elessar bid the two turn toward him and they knelt before the King. He placed a hand on their heads and blessed them with good health and fortune, unity against troubles and long life in love.

"Rise, Glorfindel and Silmarien," he said at last. Aragorn removed the veil from Silmarien's face and smiled comfortingly at the young woman, who seemed to be frightened out of her wits, gently turning her to face her husband.

Glorfindel didn't need the prompt to know that he could kiss Mari out in the open without being reprimanded now. And that was exactly what he did. Elemmire had to purse her lips to keep from laughing with delight for her friend. When the kiss ended, the King's voice rose.

"I present to the assembly this lord and his lady, Glorfindel and Silmarien, bound in marriage."

There was a thunderous applause, and flower petals were cast upon the aisle as they made their way to a side door into the great hall.

"I'd much rather skip the feast, dearest," Glorfindel said softly with a smile, and Mari could not help blushing.

"That would be very improper," she said quietly, making sure not to trip on her way over the stone steps up to the hall.

"What's to be improper," he smiled roguishly. "You're my wife now. I can do what I please."

"_We_ may do what we please." Mari added with her own little grin, and Glorfindel almost laughed aloud. He rather liked this wicked side of Silmarien, and wondered how much he could draw it out.

"They will expect us," Mari said. "Tongues will wag if we're not present at our own wedding feast."

"In the manner of my people, it would not be improper," Glorfindel reminded her. "And you are my wife now, and one of my family and blood."

"That may be true, my love," she smiled. "But we are still in the presence of my own people. And they are prone to gossip, maliciously I might add. Behave just a little while longer, if you can."

And to his credit, he tried, to be certain. But his hands were impish, seeming to have their own mind, pinching her and petting her through her dress. He drove her mad, the tantalizing thought of being with him just beyond her reach.

Glorfindel noted the way she pursed her lips as he made such impudent, though hidden, advances toward her. The way her blush deepened just slightly on her cheeks. The way her eyes would dart from him to her plate as she fought to control herself.

When the celebration was gaining momentum, and the wine was flowing freely, Silmarien could almost take no more of his touches. She begged with him, and he smiled.

"We may leave now. I doubt they'd notice," he whispered, kissing her ear.

Rhoswen had to smile at the exasperated look her sister-in-law hid quickly after being accosted by yet another friend of her fathers, wanting to congratulate her. At last it was Glorfindel who bid the man good night a little hastily, as he directed him toward the wine barrell. Rhoswen almost laughed out right at how fast they ran through the door.

"A little anxious, those two," Boromir remarked to his wife with a smile.

"You don't seem to remember our wedding night, do you?" Rhoswen asked with a smile. Her husband laughed and kissed her cheek.

"Oh, I do."

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The End…? 


	20. Drauglor Unleashed

**Chapter Summary - **Rawr...the wedding night. Written with the help of Mercury Gray.

**Shout Outs:**

**Dread Lady Freya - **You didn't think that I'd end the story without embarrassing Terreis just once more, did you?

**Mercury Gray -** Well, you helped me with pretty much all of them, love!

**Roisin Dubh** - Well, maybe not the entire honeymoon...but the wedding night works!

* * *

The married lovers finally escaped the feasting hall, and ran hand in hand to the honeymoon suite prepared for them. Glorfindel kissed her as soon as they were in the sitting room they shared. 

"Be quick, love," he smiled. "I've plans for you."

Racing to the wife's bedchambers,Silmarien quickly removed her wedding veil and gown, wondering what devilish mirth her new husband was having. Hastily putting on her new silken nightshift, she let some of her hair down to imitate the Elven fashion as best she could.Excitedly, shecrossed the sitting room and stopped just before his door. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she knocked.

"Enter," his voice filtered through the wooden door. She could tell he was exerting some forced patience by its quietness. Tentatively, she opened the door, unsure as to what she would find – something new and different to be sure.

He stood near the balcony, the moonlight casting its silver glow over his bare torso. He stood merely in his trousers, his hair pulled back, for the ornamental braids had not been sufficient for his purpose. The silver coronet he had worn was put away, as well as his ceremonial boots, so that he stood barefoot. As Silmarien gazed upon him, she could not help but think she had married one of the Ainur. She marveled at his strength as he studied the moon. Coming closer to him, her hand shyly reached out to touch his well muscled back. The tautness of the skin that stretched over his shoulder blades seemed too fine to be real. The strength of his shoulders made her weak with trembling want. Would he be an impassioned lover who would hold her in his unyielding arms, never to let go as he ravaged her? She shivered unconciouslyat the thought.

"You are so strong, _meleth nin_," Silmarien whispered to her new husband, tracing the contours of his muscles.

His back straightened more, if that could be possible, as her finger slid from his shoulder to the small of his back. Glorfindel closed his eyes, savoring her touch, shy and gentle though it was. He wondered if she could be as on fire for him as he was for her. He knew she had passion – he had seen it as she fought fiercely for the sake of her cousin's happiness. He wanted to see how hungry she was, and he wanted to fill her to the satisfaction of her desire.

"Is it not warm to you this night, my love," Glorfindel murmured, his voice like silk that wrapped about her senses, stealing them away.

He turned to her, smiling softly. She came closer to him and drew her arms around his abdomen in an embrace.

"So very warm," she purred in reply, her lips grazing his chest.

"_Meleth nin_," he whispered, feigning deep thought. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do," Silmarien smiled, her lips pressed against his sternum. It set his blood boiling, and he had to make a conscious effort to keep from tearing off the thin nightdress she wore that taunted him.

"Let us play a game then. I wish to see how well we trust each other."

"What game?" she asked, lifting her head. His body screamed for the contact of her lips again, but his face was a mask of calm.

"Blind man's bluff," Glorfindel smiled, holding up a silken handkerchief he had folded into a blindfold.

"You jest with me," she laughed. "I've not played this for many years!"

"I assure you, it shall have variations that children should not play," the Elf smirked as he tied the knot securely. "No cheating. Now, follow me."

Without a sound, he made his way to the bed, drawing away the sheer curtain around it. He turned to see why she was not behind him. Silmarien stood where he had left her, her head tilted as she adjusted to her loss of sight, learning the sounds of their room.

This was unlike anything she had ever heard of from her women friends. Rhoswen had snickered when asked about her own wedding night, and refused to speak of the passion of Boromir. But somehow, Silmarien had the feeling that her brother's manner could never compare to her husband's.

"Glorfindel," she whined, imitating a small child. "You've the unfair advantage of elven tread. I cannot hear you when you walk."

"You know the feel of my presence," he replied, smiling. "Follow it."

Hesitantly, she came toward him, lifting her hand to feel the air in front of her. When she felt the bare flesh of his pectorals, she drew her fingers away in surprise. Her breathing became uneven, and he knew she wasn't expecting him to be so close. Suddenly she smiled.

"I've found you," she laughed. Oh, how that laugh drove him to madness.

She reached up to take the blindfold off, but his soft touch stopped her. "Leave it," Glorfindel said, his voice growing husky withmounting desire for her touch.

"Lay down on the bed," he commanded softly. Like a child groping in the dark, Silmarien felt her way to the bed, crawling on it until she laid her head upon the pillows, waiting for him.

How vulnerable she was, laying on his bed. Glorfindel took a moment to savor the beauty that was his wife. He vowed she would never regret her decision to marry him. Imperceptibly, his weight settled on the bed next to her. Silmarien felt his hands at her ankles, slowly drawing up her nightgown. Involuntarily, she drew her limbs away from him shyly. He stopped.

"Do you trust me," he asked again. He watched her relax.

"Yes," she answered softly. She had no control over the situation, could not offer retaliation. Could not see him coming. He smiled as he drew off her gown tossing it to the floor.

"Silmarien, you are lovely," he breathed as he admired the beautiful nakedness of his wife. He leaned forward after his silent worship of her body, gently placing his hands on either side of her head, supporting his weight. His lips grazed her cheek as he spoke.

"You've said that my touch makes you yearn for me," he murmured.

"Yes," Silmarien sighed, her hand reaching for him and caressing his shoulder. He could feel her tremble in anticipation. His lips curled in a roguish grin.

"I will show you that I can make you yearn for me without the use of my hands."

Mari drew in a shaky breath. What would he do? She whimpered nervously, her body tense as he began to caress her skin with his long nose, the warm breath of his nostrils setting her skin to a rosy blush. Silmarien's mind spun out of control. His hands, she could feel them on either side of her head, but oh, his caress was heavenly. His breath was hot, like a dragon's slow burn.

"Oh, _glory,"_ she breathed when he nuzzled the vale of her breasts. She moaned louder when he reached her naval and deliberately exhaled upon it. Her blood felt like fire in her veins and she could almost feel a pounding in her temples as he paused there, kissing her naval, licking it, his tongue dancing over the flat plane of her stomach.

"Drauglor," Silmarien hissed, massaging his scalp, her fingers feeling the silk that was his gold hair. He abruptly ceased his caressing of her skin, lifting his head and licking his dried lips.

"What did you call me?" he asked, his voice impossibly low with dangerous passion. She felt him slide up her body agonizingly slow, but she smiled devilishly. She knew it had pleased him, else he would not make her say it again. His breath was hot on her cheek.

"Drauglor," Silmarien drew out the Sindarin syllables in a moan as he suckled at her collarbone.

"So, I am a golden wolf, eh?" Glorfindel murmured wickedly.

"Yes," she hissed in reply, delighting in the burning sensation she was getting from his lips as well as his hands, which were caressing her breasts, tickling down to her thighs. Oh, she couldn't take it anymore.

"Pray, grant me my sight, lord," she begged softly.

"I grant it, good lady," Glorfindel replied, removing the blindfold from her eyes. He untied the knot and placed the handkerchief over his own eyes, smiling as he retied it.

"Come, now you cannot see. What poor sport this is, that we cannot enjoy each other's most silent reactions, love!"

"Nay, I endeavor to show thee another thing of me," he grinned. "I have seen your naked form and though I've only seen it a short while, I have learned the soft curves, the fair slenderness. I shall now please you without the use of mine eyes."

Silmarien could not help but think that his smile was villainous, as he reached for her again. He sought out her lips without guidance and began to plunder her mouth more fiercely than she had ever been victim to. Whimpering for more, Silmarien returned it with much fervor, for his teasing had forced out her mounting desire for him.

"Glorfindel," she moaned as he squeezed the round softness of her buttocks.

"Ah, what happened to Drauglor?"

"Ai, if you continue, it shall be your name all night, and every night hereafter!"

With a nefarious laugh of victory, Glorfindel arched his back as he slid down her body, moving with the slow grace of a cat. His muscles flexed as he unbuckled his trousers, letting them slide to his ankles, kicking them away. He heard his bride's sharp intake of breath, and he knew she was staring at the largeness of his naked form.

"Take me, I am yours, Duveniel," he murmured, holding up his arms in supplication. "Do with me as you will."

"What a lovely plaything I have," she laughed, letting her hand slide across his chest as she came closer, moving behind him. "I wonder if he shall bear the worst of my play, or shall he break and force me to cry?"

"I am hale as ever, lady," he smiled. "Even the roughest owner cannot break me."

"Good," she replied, letting her teeth gently sink into his shoulder. "I've ruined many things in my games."

Her hand had slid lower, a little past his naval. Glorfindel's belly throbbed in anticipation of her touch at his needy member. But she went no further. Instead, he felt her lips upon the tip of his pointed ear. Sighing loudly, he threw his head back.

"Aha, so my elf _does_ have a weakness," Mari moaned into his ear. "I shall use this often."

Leaning him backward, she continued to suckle his ear, slowly laving it with her tongue. His hips bucked in time to her slow ministrations, his hands grasping at the bed sheets as he gasped for succor. As she continued to lick his poor ears, his erection hardened further until he could stand it no more.

"Mercy," he hissed, "mercy upon me!"

"He cries for mercy, my poor husband. But at least he knows that each of his taunts shall be returned tenfold."

With a last lick, she pulled away, taking the blindfold with her, tossing it over her shoulder. His eyes were shamefully dark as he plead for his wife with but a motion of his hands. When she returned to him, he held her tightly and rolled over on the bed so that she was beneath him. The movement was so quick it made her gasp. He would not let her get away so easily, by the wild light in his eyes.

"You've unleashed the wolf, love," he murmured. "There is now no escape."

With that, Glorfindel plundered her mouth with the hunger of a prowling animal. He pressed his hardened length against her, forcing her to realize that she did indeed affect him, and that he needed her badly. The urgency of his kiss diminished, little by little until at last he pulled away and looked down upon his wife.

"You will feel pain," he murmured, taking her hands in his, lacing his fingers with hers. Glorfindel encouraged his beloved to squeeze as hard as she liked, as long as she felt the discomfort. Silmarien nodded slowly and braced herself. When he finally entered her, he covered her lips with his, swallowing her cries so that she would not feel embarrassed if anyone else heard them.

But then, everything faded, and Silmarien felt it. Her body untensed, her hold on Glorfindel's hands loosening. He shifted his weight and Silmarien gasped.

"_Glorfindel_!" she hissed. Her husband laughed and thrust in her again, watching her roll her head back into the bed's mattress, lengthening the column of her beautiful white neck.

Glorfindel's rhythm suited her, and soon Mari was rolling her hips and delighting in his own moans and sighs. Into the early morning, they made love with wild abandon, as only mad lovers can. And when the sun rose, she shone upon the couple, asleep in each other's arms. So they would greet the day, for the rest of their lives, in unity together to the start of the day and at the very end.

* * *

Translations:

_Meleth nin -_ my love

**The End...no, really!**


End file.
